


Quicksilver

by Gamemakers



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamemakers/pseuds/Gamemakers
Summary: Dearest Diary,Two events of note occurred today. First, I realized that Peeta Mellark, who just yesterday I considered an ally and possible friend, is an irredeemable prat. Second, I became betrothed to him.London, 1793. After a life spent on her family’s country estate, the time has finally come for the Everdeen sisters to be introduced to the London elite. Katniss will do anything to ensure her younger sister does not fall into the wrong hands, but surrounded by strangers, she has no way of judging Prim’s many suitors’ intentions. Enter Peeta Mellark, the youngest brother of the Earl of Panem and a longtime fixture of the ton. He seems the perfect ally, but Peeta has intentions of his own, and Katniss’ spinsterhood may not be as safe as she believes.





	1. Chapter 1

_Dearest Diary,_

_I am certain that the Earl of Panem’s ball will be heralded as the event of the season in the gossip papers tomorrow. I found both the food and the company better than I have come to expect, but if the columnists are correct, I am afraid it is shaping up to be a dull season indeed._

Soup had, at first, seemed an odd dish to serve at such an event. Hundreds of people circulated through the ballroom, and with such a mass of bodies, as well as the flutes of champagne so freely distributed by uniformed servants, the occasional collision was impossible to avoid. No one wanted soup splashed on their best clothing, and Katniss was sure that this one’s peculiar shade of green would make for a very nasty stain. But curiosity had gotten the better of her, as it was wont to do, and after several minutes of eying the liquid the exact color of grass clippings, she accepted a bowl. Smooth and creamy, it tasted perfectly of spring, bringing to mind sunlight and dewdrops and flower buds. Thank goodness she could watch the dance floor from the serving station, because if left to choose between keeping an eye on Prim and gorging herself, she wouldn’t be able to look herself in the eye – or the stomach, for that matter – tomorrow.

“If you like the soup, you’ll love these.” Katniss jumped at the voice, narrowly avoiding spilling the entire contents of her bowl down the front of her gown. Despite her best efforts, a thin dribble of green worked its way down her bodice. The man took her bowl away and handed her a cloth to clean up with. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 _I don’t care if you meant to or not, and neither does my dress_. Social niceties allowed far too many good barbs to go unused. Instead, she pasted on her best fake smile and looked up at him. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw. Dark blonde hair, deep blue eyes that must have inspired comparisons to lakes and the sky in dozens of silly young women’s diaries, and a warm, genuine smile that melted away any anger about her stained gown. Perhaps most surprising was that he could be no more than a year or two older than her own twenty-three years. The season was only a few weeks old, but until tonight, she hadn’t been approached by any men too young to be her father.

“I am very sorry about your dress. I could ask the hostess if there is somewhere you could clean up, if you’d like.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. It’s not very noticeable.” This time, her smile was very real. She ought to find something to keep this conversation moving, for too many apologies for what really was now only a tiny spot on her dress would drive her mad. “What is it that I should try?”

“The cheese buns. They’re my favorite.” He placed her discarded bowl of soup on the table for the servants to take care of and held out a fragrant golden-brown roll.

She took it from him. “Thank you.” Suddenly aware of how ridiculous she looked as she ate, Katniss took a tiny bite, and it took an embarrassingly great deal of willpower not to moan at the divine mixture of heavily spiced, almost savory bread with the mildest, creamiest of cheeses.

Thank heavens, the man seemed to be enjoying his bun every bit as much. It seemed impossible that one could take joy in their food while acting in accordance with the strict rules that governed the upper classes’ every movement, but somehow, he managed it. “These have been my favorite since I was a child,” he explained when he noticed how she watched him.

“Are they a common recipe?” She had never tried such a dish before, but her family hadn’t been to London since she was very young. It had not taken Katniss long to realize that life in the city bore only a faint resemblance to her simpler life at the Seam.

“No, not that I’m aware of. I believe the recipe is unique to Sae. I grew up here.”

She couldn’t believe her lack of manners, not knowing who her host was. “It’s a lovely evening.”

He laughed. “I’ll be certain to pass that on to Rye and Amelia.” He held out a gloved hand. “I was remiss in not introducing myself sooner. Peeta Mellark. The earl is my older brother.” The name niggled at something in her mind, but though she could swear that she had heard of Peeta Mellark before, she couldn’t recall when or why his name had been mentioned.

She pushed those thoughts aside. Should the memory not return, she could always ask her mother and sister later. They cared more for gossip than she did anyway. “Katniss Everdeen. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She took his hand, and he brought it to his lips.

“And I am pleased to make yours, Miss Everdeen.” His eyes met hers, sending a thrilling jolt of electricity through her. “Would you care to dance?”

No, not particularly, for though her mother had guided her through uncountable hours of lessons, she always felt a half step behind and off-balance. But Katniss nodded all the same, allowing him to take her hand and guide her onto the dance floor. One of his hands settled on her waist as they fell into the rhythm of the waltz. She did not magically become some human embodiment of grace as he led her through the steps – Katniss estimated it would take at least two miracles to manage that – but she did not feel nearly as self-conscious as she usually did. The waltz broke neatly into three steps. Down for the first count, then up for the second and third. Even she could handle that, and talking to him, Katniss forgot to think about the mass of people around her, instead focusing only on his words and her mental _one-two-three._

Or, more correctly, she managed to concentrate on the conversation and the rhythm until she realized that she had no idea where Prim was. Her mother had promised to keep an eye on her, but Mother was easily distracted by the other widows and matrons. And in any case, Mother wouldn’t be looking out for the same behaviors as Katniss. Mother would care if a man lured Prim away from the ballroom and into some secluded corner or corridor. Katniss worried that some man would steal her sister’s heart before Katniss had an opportunity to vet him.

She searched the ballroom as they danced, looking for that familiar blonde head among the crowd. She found Prim only a few feet away, twirling in the arms of a partner that could be everything Katniss feared. They looked every bit an illustration from a fairy tale. Prim, forever slim and fair, no matter how much Katniss packed onto her plate at suppertime or how much time she spent in the gardens without her hat, appeared even more so against the broad, dark frame of the man she danced with. Her golden hair and pale pink dress haloed around her twirling figure in the candlelight, and she wore a wide, genuine smile as she peered up at her much taller partner, holding tightly onto his every word.

“Do you know him?” Peeta – for though it was awfully familiar to use his first name already, she couldn’t associate the cold, formal Mister Mellark with such kind features and that gentle voice - asked.

Katniss was ashamed to admit that not only had she quite lost track of their conversation, but she also had no way of hiding it. “Who?”

“Lord Hawthorne - the man you’ve been watching. I could introduce you, if you’d like.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. He’s dancing with my sister is all.” Even to her own ears, the truth sounded like a miserable excuse, but she prayed Peeta would accept it all the same.

Peeta looked over towards where Prim and her partner, this Lord Hawthorne, danced, then turned back to her. “Your sister is lovely.” His eyes skimmed over her in a way that couldn’t possibly be polite. He leaned in close enough that his warm breath caressed her cheek with his next words. “I think it’s the family resemblance.”

Her cheeks grew warm, and his hand on her waist now felt terribly intimate. Katniss had heard such platitudes more times than she cared to count, but never before had she been so affected. Not trusting herself to keep her composure should the conversation continue in this vein, she searched for a new subject. “Do you know Lord Hawthorne well?”

He nodded. “He was a year or two ahead of me at Eton. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but I’ve known him for many years.”

“What do you think of him? If he is pursuing my sister – and it looks like he is – I want to know that he would treat her well.” It was less than polite, certainly, and her mother would have something to say if she overheard them, but if Katniss was to be trapped with him until the end of the song, she might as well press him for all the information she could.

“He’s smart as can be, and he took a first in maths at Oxford, and he has always been good company in social situations.  Beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t be much help.”

“Thank you. Anything is better than nothing.”

A sly grin spread across Peeta’s features. “I think that with some more time to think, I might be able to remember more about him.

“Oh?”

“Say, another dance?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

* * *

 

The tulips were a surprise. Without fail, Prim’s suitors sent roses, and their drawing room had been stuffed so full of the bouquets that Katniss could no longer walk by without getting a headache from the overwhelming scent. Beyond noting that the sunset orange flowers made a nice contrast to the pinks and reds, Katniss hadn’t thought much of them at first, simply another bouquet in an endless stream of gifts, correspondence, and calls all meant for Prim.

Instead, Katniss dug through the stack of letters, rifling through the fine stationery until she found a rough envelope that looked as though it had been addressed by a child. She slit it open to reveal Haymitch’s report. The groundskeeper was more than capable of taking care of the Seam, but she hated leaving the estate for so long, and she spent the week worrying about what would appear in the next report. This one held nothing good. No, she amended, the Williams had their baby, a healthy girl they had named Anne. The rest of it, though, consisted of rains that had washed out several farmers’ fields and caused a leaky roof at the Seam that she had no extra money to fix.

“And I thought you weren’t getting married.” Her mother’s words startled her.

“I’m not.”

“Have you told Mister Mellark that? It’s not the impression I would have walked away with, watching the two of you last night.” Mother was positively beaming this morning, and though Katniss hated to break her heart, it had to be done.

“I don’t see him here.”

“But you have seen the flowers he sent, yes?” Oh, those were for her? Interesting. “They’re lovely. Roses are beautiful, of course, but it’s so nice to see a man send something else.” Now that she looked at them, they were gorgeous. She hadn’t seen any in such a deep shade of orange before, and the purple-brown spots that dotted the petals were new as well. They must have been terribly dear. Horrible to think that as nice of a man as Peeta had so wasted his money. “Have you read the card he sent with them?”

“You have?” True, Katniss occasionally read the cards Prim’s suitors sent along with their gifts, but she didn’t appreciate her mother doing the same. Surely a twenty-three-year-old woman could be trusted where a girl of seventeen could not?

Her mother ignored the question, instead pushing the letter towards her. “He’s absolutely smitten, I tell you.”

Katniss left it for later – not, she assured herself, because she was afraid of her reaction to its contents, but because she had no interest in Peeta Mellark or his attempts at courting her. “I’m not looking for a husband, which I’m sure Mister Mellark will soon realize.”

Again, her words were ignored, a worrying trend. “He’s certainly handsome, and the Mellarks are a good family. You could do worse.”

“And could I do better? I imagine that would be the more important question, would it not?”

The skin around her mother’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I imagine you would have to answer that for yourself, love.”

Well, that was easy enough. Now, if only her bigger problems could be so easily solved.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dearest Diary,_

_I do believe my mother and sister have gone quite insane, which I credit to our current environment. I pray that if I should ever suffer a similar ailment, rereading this entry will strike some sense into me. If that fails, I haven't the faintest idea how our family will continue to function._

* * *

"When is the wedding?"

Katniss stopped toying with the bouquet to look at her sister. "Whose?" Had they been invited to any weddings? Katniss couldn't think of any, but she rarely bothered to keep track of the family's social calendar. In any case, it was well within the realm of possibility that a couple may have invited Prim and Mother without her. She ought to be offended at the number of times someone had been surprised to learn Prim had an older sister, but if she managed to escape a wedding because of it, Katniss could happily forgive those missteps.

"Yours and Mister Mellark's." Prim's tone suggested that should have been obvious.

"I think you know the answer to that question." Did she think that Katniss' entire view on marriage had changed after one dance?

"I would wager there are six weeks until the proposal and a wedding by the end of the season." Though her own bed was only a few feet away, Prim settled onto Katniss', wrinkling the blankets underneath.

"Well then, I suppose it's fortunate you don't have any money to gamble." When Father was still alive, he had often said that Prim would become more and more like their mother as she matured. Katniss imagined this had been intended as a comfort, that the naughty twin-braided child who kicked at her shins when Mother wasn't looking would grow to be as calm and stately as their mother. How naïve she had been to think that the gracious, mature Prim would annoy her any less. "In any case, I'm sure the same could be said for you and Lord Hawthorne."

"I don't think so."

That, she hadn't expected. "Oh?"

"No, he's too serious for me."

"Seriousness isn't necessarily a bad quality to have." Katniss would certainly prefer that to some man who spent his time drinking and gambling both his fortune and Prim's security away.

"True." Her sister frowned. "But I would like to have at least some fun between now and dying."

Morbid, and Katniss rather doubted that Lord Hawthorne would entirely quell Prim's fun, but she didn't care to argue the basic premise. She turned her attention back to the tulips. On her mother's advice, Katniss had taken them up to her and Prim's shared bedroom so that she could enjoy them without having to suffer the stink of roses in the drawing room. She had been somewhat less than careful as she took them upstairs, and though Katniss tried to fix the gaps that had developed between the blooms, she couldn't hide them entirely.

Prim allowed her to work in silence for only a moment. "I'm not going to let you get away with that, you know. You don't get to change the subject that easily."

"Are you certain?" Katniss did not bother to look up from her task, futile as her efforts might be. "I thought it was working rather well for a while there."

"And trying to turn this into an argument isn't going to work either. Come along, tell me about him. What's he like?" Pity Peeta had paid out for such nice flowers. Katniss would have killed for an excuse to pick through the tulips for browned petals, anything to avoid Prim's eyes. "Well?" her sister pressed.

Katniss sighed. "I spent one dance -"

" _Two_ dances," Prim corrected. "And that's just what I saw. I'm not so sure there weren't more."

"Very well then, I danced a few dances with him, during which time he neither professed some great love for me nor offered up his entire life story. So, if that's what you're looking for, I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed."

The stubbornness of Everdeen women had been bemoaned by generations of Everdeen men, but until recently, Katniss hadn't realized just how much of a bother it could be. "But you did talk to him. Surely you learned something of the man? I've heard the rumors of course, everybody has, but – "

This time, it was Katniss' turn to interrupt. "What rumors?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" A sly grin spread across Prim's pretty features. "Very interesting. Maybe, if you tell me a little more about Mister Mellark, I might have something to share."

"Primrose…" she warned, her voice low and threatening, but Prim's resolve did not waver. Fine, then. She had been dodging the same question since this morning, and now the sunset bathed their cramped room in orange light. The greatest generals were those who knew when to surrender. "He's rather nice and an excellent dancer."

"And?"

Katniss shook her head. "I really don't know much beyond that. Come on, out with it."

"Well, according to the rumors, he used to be quite the rake."

"Forgive me if I don't find that comforting."

Prim scowled at her. "Do you want to hear the rest or not?" Not so long ago, her sister would not have dared to scold her. How times had changed. Prim waited until she was satisfied Katniss would not interrupt. "As I was saying, he was an absolute rake until last year. Everyone says the opera last year was an incredible spectacle. I think they meant musically, of course, but there was a gorgeous soprano with the company." Katniss' stomach gave an unpleasant twist at those words. "I don't remember what her name was – I'm actually not sure if anyone mentioned it. Anyways, at first, everyone assumed it was just a dalliance between her and Mister Mellark, but he was smitten. I hear he was planning to propose."

"What happened?"

Her sister shrugged. "No one quite knows, but she left for the Continent the day her contract ended. He was heartbroken."

"Oh dear. That's no good." Katniss had never met the woman, didn't even know her name for Christ's sake, and knew nothing of her reasons for leaving. She disliked the soprano all the same.

But Prim wasn't finished. "He hasn't been interested in anyone since she left is what I've heard."

"You certainly seem to be hearing a lot. Gossiping isn't an attractive pastime."

"And what are you doing right now?" Prim countered.

"I don't intend to make a habit of it." Their room had grown dark as the sun slipped out of view. Katniss lit the small lamp that sat on the nightstand between their beds. "Don't you have something better to do than talk about some man you've never met?"

"Only if you have something better to do than think about him."

* * *

She did not go looking for him. No, Katniss had far better things to do than wander through the throngs of partygoers to search for a man that might not even have attended. These better things included sitting with her mother as she and three other women whose names Katniss hadn't caught gossiped. Perhaps she should commit some time to learning the names of the less moral members of the ton. Their talk would surely be more interesting if she could remember if the Miss Brambles who had tempted the Duke of Wellingston away from his wife was the same Miss _Something-or-Another_ whose rather similar exploits with another married man had been the topic of conversation at previous parties.

"- and there were the blue satin slippers – hers, mind you – sitting outside his study! Can you imagine?" Oh yes, she remembered the blue slippers, so it must be the same story. Pity, that.

Katniss turned her attention to the mass of people milling about the ballroom. She had attended enough of these events over these past few weeks that many of the faces were familiar, even if she remembered them more for odd features or habits than anything else. There was the older gentleman who needed spectacles but refused them and therefore squinted down his nose at everyone from an uncomfortable angle. Tonight, he stood next to Lady Leighaday, a woman who looked so perfectly average that Katniss doubted she would remember her at all if not for her rather unfortunate name. Not two feet away, that lecherous dark-haired man in his early forties watched the dancers, staring intently as though following one couple in particular. His title must have been very impressive indeed if the ton allowed him to get away with that sort of behavior.

Curious, she followed his gaze to see Peeta dancing with a woman in a dress so golden it could have been woven from sunbeams. With wide blue eyes that seemed even larger against her small features and blonde hair even lighter than Prim's, she was pretty in an innocent, childlike way. She smiled as they danced, laughing at something he said, just as Katniss had only three days prior. Her stomach went sour.

"They're cousins." Mother nodded towards Peeta and his partner. "Miss Delly Cartwright is the daughter of the late earl's sister. You met both her and her mother last week."

Peeta must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned and gave her a lopsided grin that really shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. "Did I?" Katniss hoped her voice did not betray her distraction.

"Trust me." Eileen Everdeen patted her daughter's hand. "Now, off with you. My conversations aren't nearly as much fun when there are innocent ears listening in."

She wanted to protest, but Peeta appeared before them as though out of thin air. "Good evening, Lady Everdeen, Miss Everdeen."

Her mother nodded towards him and turned on her most charming smile. "Mister Mellark. How nice to see you again." Again? When had Peeta met her mother? And more generally, just how blind had Katniss been to her family's affairs?

"You as well. I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation, but may I please borrow your daughter for a dance?"

"Yes," Katniss agreed. She took his hand and allowed him to lead her in the waltz. "I can make decisions for myself, you know," she added once she was out of earshot of her mother and her friends. Not that it would matter, as she was certain they had returned to a more lurid version of their original conversation immediately, but it felt like good manners.

"I am." His hand settled on her waist, the weight now equally familiar and thrilling, and they began to dance.

"Then I would appreciate it if you were to address your requests to me in the future." She fell into the rhythm of the music easily under his guidance. Though Katniss would consider her usual dancing somewhat less graceful than the average bull, her movements tonight felt natural, almost liquid in how they flowed from one to the next. She could see how people enjoyed this.

"Miss Everdeen, are you assuming that I'll be asking you to dance again?" Peeta's eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hairline in feigned shock.

She shook her head. "I'm not sure I'll want to after this."

"Don't say that. You might not admit it, but you're having a much better time out here with me than you were ignoring your mother and her friends earlier."

"Perhaps." She refused to give him the satisfaction of being right.

"On that, I have you cornered. Unlike last time, I didn't have to bribe a dance out of you with information."

"Or perhaps you overpaid for the first dance when I would have given you one for free."

He chuckled. When he laughed, Peeta's eyes turned the most stunning shade of blue she'd ever seen. Katniss pushed that observation aside before she could begin to analyze it too deeply. "Miss Everdeen, I do believe you're the most disagreeable woman I have ever met."

"No, I'm not."

His full-bellied laugh caused a few neighboring partygoers to look over at them, but Peeta hardly seemed to notice. "Are you determined to prove me wrong, or are you doing your best to show me right?"

"Whichever you find most disagreeable," she said in the sweetest voice she could summon.

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do with - Watch out!" Someone made a strangled noise behind her, and Peeta stepped back, pulling her along with enough force that Katniss found herself pressed against his chest. While not an unpleasant position, she probably should right herself before anybody noticed. The ton's loosest tongues could create awful talk from even the most innocent mistakes. But he was warm, and from here she could smell the faintest traces of pipe smoke and horses, both of which were scents she didn't much care for alone, but together…

Thankfully, Peeta had more sense than she did. He moved away as quickly as he'd pressed them together. "I apologize, Lady Cohen."

The woman he addressed was tiny, easily six inches shorter than Katniss, and no younger than eighty. "I apologize as well," Katniss added, relatively certain she'd come within a half-step of trampling the poor woman. Lady Cohen's back had been hunched by age, and she rested much of her weight on a smooth wooden cane capped with ivory. Many must confuse her physical delicacy with frailty, but her eyes were sharp, and Katniss found herself bracing for words sharper still.

But Lady Cohen's words, though garbled, held no malice. Slowly, Katniss' shoulders relaxed as she tried to puzzle out the other woman's meaning. A few words were simple enough to pick out. _You, good, bother, me, young, fun._ She reached up to pat Peeta's shoulder, flashed Katniss a quick smile, and disappeared into the crowd.

Peeta squeezed her hand, which Katniss hadn't realized he was holding. "Where were we?" he asked. "Something about you being difficult and me being a fool, if I'm not mistaken?"

"That sounds right." She focused on falling back into step with him. "What did she say?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I believe the basic message was that we shouldn't allow her to get in the way of our dancing –" his lips twitched " – even if that does mean you step on her dress occasionally."

"Oh dear." She craned her neck back, searching for Lady Cohen in the crowd. "Is everything all right? Do you think she needs any help?"

"If Mags was upset or needed anything, she would let you know. Apoplexy isn't enough to have changed that." Peeta shook his head. "In any case, I think you've proven your point."

"Which one?"

"That I'm a fool."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Katniss teased.

Peeta frowned down at her. "I don't have to tell you, you know."

"What?"

He nodded into the crowd. "About Mister Seneca Crane." She followed his gesture to see Prim dancing with a tall, dark-haired gentleman. Did the girl ever bother with any other sort? Their feet barely seemed to touch the ground, so graceful were they together, and he watched Prim attentively as they danced, a perfectly charming smile on his face. Something about him sent a chill through her. She had left him with Prim unsupervised. True, Katniss had no reason to believe they had left the ballroom, and Mother was surely keeping an eye on them just as she was Katniss and Peeta, but guilt gnawed at her all the same. Peeta must have noticed, for he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I don't know much, but I can ask around at my club tomorrow."

"Please do," she whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dearest Diary,_

_A letter from Haymitch came in the morning post. Besides the usual business, he has also come down with a nasty cold that he hasn’t been able to get rid of, and he requested that my mother come back as soon as is convenient so that she might give him one of her remedies. I replied that I was sorry he had been so afflicted, and that I hoped he would continue his excellent work despite his condition, but we had rather a lot of parties to attend before we may return to the Seam. Upon reading over it again, I realized he might not appreciate that sentiment. I believe I shall write another draft tomorrow._

* * *

 

Katniss had never before been excited at the prospect of a gentleman caller. Sitting in the drawing room of the Everdeens’ rented London home, watching the hands of the clock creep closer and closer to her two o’clock commitment, surreptitiously biting her fingernails when she was certain Mother wouldn’t see, all of it combined to an alien experience, and one she wasn’t certain she wanted to repeat at that.

Twenty-five minutes left. She refused to merely sit and wait, and it had been made clear to her that Mother and Prim needed no help with their embroidery, so Katniss had brought down her correspondence to occupy her. Thankfully, nothing of any great importance had happened in the Seam since Haymitch’s last update. He had managed some basic repairs to the roof of the manor house that ought to last the winter, though he cautioned that more a more thorough, and expensive, fix would have to be found next year.

That her most pressing concern stood an entire year in the future was surely to blame for her trouble drafting her reply. She fell into a terrible cycle: write a word or two, check the clock, stare back down at her paper and struggle to remember what point she was trying to make. Her first draft had been nothing short of dreadful and now sat in a crumpled ball next to her, which she took as an omen that the waste so integral to the top tiers of London society had rubbed off on her. Thankfully, Mother hadn’t noticed yet, so intent was she on her and Prim’s shared embroidery project.

“There’s a gentleman here to see you,” said Mary, the only servant they could afford to maintain this season.

Katniss, ignoring her mother’s stare, stuffed her second draft under the seat cushions. It was rubbish anyway. “Send him in.”

“He’s here to see Miss Prim,” Mary replied.

Before Katniss could say anything, Mother stepped in. “Yes, Mary, please send him in.” She turned to Katniss. “I thought your appointment wasn’t for another fifteen minutes?”

“I suppose so.”

Eileen smiled, reaching over to pat her daughter’s leg. “Don’t worry, Katniss, Mister Mellark will be here soon enough.”

She frowned. “How did you know my appointment was with Mister Mellark? I’m positive I didn’t mention him.” In fact, Katniss had made a point not to say that she was planning on seeing Peeta. She would already have to suffer through hours of comments and questions and encouragements after he left. No reason she should have to sit through that all morning as well.

“Don’t be silly, Katniss,” Prim admonished. “You’ve been fidgeting over there for the last hour waiting for him. Who else would you be so excited to see?”

“I’m not excited to see him, I’m impatient for –“ Katniss cut herself off when she heard Mary return. Thank goodness. Though Mother almost certainly suspected, Prim knew nothing of her and Peeta’s conversations, or for that matter, Katniss’ interest in her suitors. Katniss intended to keep it that way.

“Good afternoon, Mister Crane. How good to see you again,” Prim said in her sweetest voice.

“You as well, Miss Everdeen.” His voice was slick like oil, and he held onto his s’s for too long. Crane nodded to the three of them in turn. “Lady Everdeen. And, I presume, another Miss Everdeen? I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, looking at her.

“This is my daughter, Katniss,” Mother introduced her.

Katniss suppressed the chill she felt at Crane’s gaze and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Crane.”

“Two beautiful, charming daughters. How fortunate you are, Lady Everdeen.” Katniss had never been described as charming, and she could count on one hand the number of times someone beyond her family had called her beautiful. If Crane thought he could ingratiate himself to her with compliments, he was going to have to reconsider.

“I have been blessed,” Mother replied. “Would you care for some tea, Mister Crane?”

“Yes, please.” With a nod from Mother, Mary was sent off for tea, and Katniss was forgotten as Crane, Prim, and Mother began the three-sided interrogation at the heart of all courting here.

Now that Prim and Mother had Crane’s full attention, Katniss could examine him. This vantage point afforded her a much better view of him than she had had two days prior. He stood at least as tall as Mary, who was somewhat of a giant when compared to other women, but narrow shoulders and a sagging, almost limp posture suggested no great strength to match. She could not argue that Crane’s particular combination of raven hair, brilliant blue eyes, and pale skin was anything but striking. To Katniss, though, it spoke of long days spent indoors, far away from the fields and forests of the Seam that Prim so loved.

With the tea came another suitor for Prim, and a third joined not five minutes later. Men, she had observed, tended to flock like birds, even as they argued their independent spirit. Katniss settled back into the seat cushion and watched as they jockeyed around each other, preening and posturing in hopes that they would catch Prim's eye over the others. At this point, she would be little surprised if one puffed up and danced for her the way the roosters at home did for the hens. It would make for more interesting viewing, at any rate.

The odds were not in their favor, but yet two more filed in as Katniss worked her way through the generous plate of biscuits Mary had been kind enough to leave her. Honestly, why any of them bothered to stay was beyond her. As the semicircle of men around Prim grew, Crane remained seated next to her, and while Prim's eyes danced around the others, they always settled on him. Having determined that the opposite sex had very little sense or original thought between them, Katniss was surprised when the sixth man sat himself down next to her. "Late, aren't I?" remarked Lord Hawthorne, nodding towards the gaggle of men around Prim.

“I suppose so.” Katniss stole a glance towards the grandfather clock in the corner. Two-thirty. Peeta was very late. “I could have Mary fetch another chair, if you’d like to join the circle.”

“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“Will you be on your way, then?”

His thick, dark eyebrows knitted together as he frowned down at her. “No. Why would I?”

“Would you like some tea while you wait, then?” Realizations, like winter mornings and replies to important letters, usually came much too late for Katniss’ liking. “I mean, Lord Hawthorne, would you like some tea while we chat?”

“Yes, please.” He looked a little less serious now, a welcome change. As she poured him a cup, Katniss watched out of the corner of her eye for Peeta. He was going on forty minutes late now. “Your sister told me about you when we met a few nights ago.”

Katniss looked up. “Did she?”

“She’s very proud of you, you know, and impressed as well. She said you handle all of your family’s affairs, and that you have done so since you were very young.” Seneca Crane ought to come over and take notes from Lord Hawthorne about how to compliment a lady.

“That seems like an odd first conversation.”

“Now that you mention it, I have to agree.” He took a bite of biscuit, the only one left off the plate she’d been presented. “These are wonderful.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your compliment along.” And she would. Mary deserved every bit of praise she received. “Did it not seem strange at the time?” Thank heavens Mother was busy watching over Prim. Katniss suspected her conversations didn’t fit her expectations for her daughters at all.

“Talking about you while I danced with your sister? No, it didn’t. You see, I raise and race horses, and when I mentioned them, she brought up that you enjoy riding, and we talked about you for a while afterwards.” He had drained his cup of tea and finished the biscuit. She really shouldn’t have eaten so many of those. Mary and Mother would have plenty to say about gluttony later.

Maybe, just to mollify Mother, she could make polite conversation. “Do you enjoy riding as well, or do you keep to breeding?”

“I do some riding. Not as much as I used to, I’m afraid, as my responsibilities have taken over much of the time I once had, but I make an effort to go at least a couple of times a month.” He smiled for the first time in their conversation. It was a handsome expression, and one that he ought to wear more often. “It’s been easier recently. My younger sister just turned ten, and I gave her a horse for her birthday. We’ve been going out together as often as I can manage, trying to get her used to the difference between her pony and a real horse.”

“I’m sure she enjoyed the gift.” She spotted movement and turned to see Peeta only steps away, forty-six minutes late. She would have to remember that if he decided to be difficult – and since this was Peeta, she had little doubt he would. “Mister Mellark. How nice to see you again.”

His blue eyes twinkled as he seated himself next to her on the narrow couch, the only spot remaining in the entire room. She tried not to think about just how little space there was between them, but when she could feel the heat of his body and hear his steady breathing, Katniss knew she had given herself an impossible task. “Thank you, Miss Everdeen. Hawthorne, it’s been too long.” He extended his hand, and Hawthorne took it.

“That it has. How have you been, Mellark?”

“Very well, thank you. Yourself?”

“Excellent.”

She had worked too hard to make an almost-interesting conversation for it to be replaced by the most boring kind of small talk. “Lord Hawthorne was just telling me about teaching his younger sister to ride.”

“How old is Posy now?” Could the man not take a hint?

“Ten.” That smile had returned. Prim must not have found the right topic of conversation if she thought Lord Hawthorne too serious. “She’s a quick learner. I’m not sure I’m ready for her to be better than me yet, but with the way she’s going, I don’t imagine it’ll be long.” He turned to Katniss. “Are all younger sisters so difficult, or was I just fortunate?”

“I think they all are.”

“I have no experience with younger sisters, but I can assure you that as a younger brother, I did everything I could to annoy Rye and Caine.”

“I’m sure you were very good at it,” Katniss teased. That earned her a strange look from Lord Hawthorne, but Peeta laughed, a warm, inviting sound that made her want to join along.

“I’m sure they’d agree with you.”

Her knee brushed against Peeta’s when she turned towards him. “Why wouldn’t they? I’m sure they know the truth when they hear it.”

Lord Hawthorne coughed into his hand and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I am sorry, Miss Everdeen, Mister Mellark, but I have an appointment across town. Thank you very much for the tea.”

“Thank you for the company,” she replied. “Would you like me to show you outside?”

“No, thank you, I’m sure I can find my own way. Good day.” With that, he was gone.

Peeta stayed stone-faced until Lord Hawthorne was safely out of the room, then laughed. “You made quick work of him, didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?” She frowned.

“For you to scare him off,” he explained.

“Did I?” Katniss replayed the conversation in her head. Yes, she supposed that did make sense.

“You won’t convince me it’s the first time you’ve done that.”

“Maybe the first time I’ve done so accidentally.” She thought about that statement for a moment. No, it probably wasn’t, but there was no reason Peeta had to know that.

“It does make me wonder…”

“What?”

Those blue eyes bore into her, and her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, her knee against his leg felt like far more than an innocent mistake. Peeta moved in an inch closer, and his voice dropped to a low, sultry whisper. “Were you being polite to him because you fancy him, or do you save your poor manners for the people you like most?”

Warmth pooled in her cheeks, but she wouldn’t allow him to win so easily. “Who ever said I liked you at all?” Checking behind her to see if Mother had heard that would be admitting defeat, so she didn’t. Without the grounding effect of her mother’s consternation, the walls pressed in on her, eating away the room until only she, Peeta, and their unnecessarily small green couch remained.

“You didn’t have to say it.” There was a promise there, something warm and smoky that curled inside her, equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Katniss’ fingers curled around the seat cushion, holding on for dear life as she grabbed for words but found nothing.

“But,” he said casually, as though nothing had happened - and perhaps for him, nothing had -“I am glad to hear that you don’t ridicule our dear Lord Hawthorne. I’m not sure how the poor man would respond.”

“I think you might be the first person to describe him as poor.”

“That’s a good point.” Peeta’s forehead creased as he frowned. “That reminds me…”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure we should be discussing this right now.” His eyes flicked over to Prim’s suitors, and she followed to see Crane there, sitting only inches away from Prim.

Her voice dropped to an excited whisper. “You found something, then?”

“Not exactly.” Peeta smiled at her confusion. “Nothing bad. Just strange, and not something I would want to talk about while the person involved is in the room with us.” Well, that was a relief. It would have been embarrassing if she had to grab the hunting knife from upstairs and drive it into Crane’s heart in the middle of their drawing room. Mary would never let her forget the mess. “Do you like to ride? I believe that was what you and Lord Hawthorne were discussing, yes?”

Katniss pushed aside any thoughts of violence. Mother was right; they didn’t really befit a proper young lady. “I do.”

“And have you ever been to Regents Park?”

She shook her head. Prim had gone once or twice, but even though she was certain she would have enjoyed the outings, Katniss had spent those afternoons at home. The less good she saw in London, the less she would miss when she left.

“You can’t spend a season in London without going to Regents Park. We could go on a riding tour. Perhaps tomorrow?”

It was only for the information. She couldn’t allow Prim to wander into Crane’s clutches unaware – at least, not more than she already had. Katniss nodded. “I’d love that.”

“Excellent!” Peeta said. “Now, if I could bother you for some tea, I believe we have a great many things to discuss.”

“Such as?”

Peeta leaned in closer. “You said that your sister did an excellent job of infuriating you as a child. As a youngest child myself, I believe it my duty to research and put into effect her best strategies.”

“And will I be able to show my face anywhere near your family after this?”

“I promise to keep my sources confidential.”

A grin spread across her face. “Then I suppose I should have Mary make some more tea. Oh, and biscuits as well. Mary’s biscuits are nearly as good as those cheese buns you had.”

“That, Miss Everdeen, is the most wonderful proposition I’ve heard in a very long time.”

“You should find better company, then.” If she hadn’t been wearing such a wide smile, perhaps those words could have had some bite.


	4. Chapter 4

_Dearest Diary,_

_I nearly broke my neck this morning. Even that pales against later events, some of which I hesitate to write here for fear that others may someday read this. Suffice it to say that today was not my best day, and whether it is a fair attribution or not, I blame it entirely on Mr. Peeta Mellark._

* * *

"When you said you enjoyed riding, I assumed you had done it before."

"I have," Katniss grunted. She made the best of her death grip on the saddle to shimmy further back into her seat. It didn't help. Now she just felt like she would fall backwards instead of forwards. She caught Peeta watching her, his expression half concerned and half amused, and scowled. "You could offer to help."

Edgar, the wisp of a saddle boy who had ridden Daring here, stepped forward to help, but Peeta waved him away. "I can help her, thank you," he said, moving close enough that he could catch her if she started to slip. Or, if he wasn't fast enough to catch her, he would at least cushion her landing. "On or off?"

"On. How else are we going to see the park?"

"All right." Peeta studied her and the horse. "How do you usually ride?"

"Not like this!"

"I can see that." She hated the laughter in his voice.

"I usually ride –" Daring, who despite her name, Peeta had assured was the gentlest, most patient horse he had ever encountered, chose that moment to start forward. Katniss screamed so loudly that it was a miracle no one came running to help them, assuming she had been attacked. The thought did nothing for her sense of security in the city. The noise seemed to urge Daring on, and Katniss clawed for a handgrip, praying she would not be thrown off.

Thankfully, Peeta's instincts were better. He took hold of Daring's reigns before she could go more than a couple steps, twisting them around his arm to anchor her in place. "Whoa, girl. Steady." He stroked her mane, and Daring leaned into his touch. When he was convinced she wouldn't try to move again, Peeta turned back to Katniss. "What were you saying about how you usually ride?"

His horse had nearly tossed her to her death not thirty seconds prior, and he wanted to stand about and discuss it while she was still on the horse? Fine. As long as he kept Daring in one spot and chose not to bring up her earlier shriek, she could pretend that everything was fine. "My father had me on a horse before I learned how to walk. I assure you that I am a perfectly capable horsewoman, but I've never ridden sidesaddle before." Katniss thought she did an excellent job of keeping her voice calm, especially when one considered that her backside was slowly sliding backwards off the saddle. Mother had offered to teach her how to ride sidesaddle before they came to London, but Katniss had refused, believing it a waste of time. That much, at least, hadn't changed. Hundreds of people must die from falling off their horses every year. Why increase that risk by making it possible to fall off in every possible direction? And Prim, who only rarely rode, had picked up the skill so quickly that Katniss thought it would come naturally to her should the need ever arise. Perhaps thinking was her real enemy. It never seemed to take her anywhere good.

"I believe it." And on second thought, maybe her real enemy stood not three feet away. Peeta was still laughing at her, even if he was less obvious about it now. "You don't have to change on my account."

Edgar choked down a laugh at that. At least he had some decency. Peeta, however… Katniss ought to have kicked him for that jab. If this was anywhere besides London and he anything besides the younger brother of an earl, she would have. Instead, she channeled the spirit of the haughty older women of the ton, the ones who could destroy anyone with a word. Keeping her head held high, she frowned down at him, and summoning a voice that hovered at the freezing point, she began, "Mister Mellark, if you ever – ah!"

Peeta had Daring still again in an instant. "You were saying?"

"Never speak to me like that again." This time, she spat the words out. If the universe's goal was to convince Katniss Everdeen she could never act with poise and grace, it had succeeded. If it wasn't, then depositing her in Regents Park sidesaddle on the back of a horse unable to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time with a man who thought the entire predicament some sort of joke was simply cruel.

Her words did not have their intended effect. In fact, she could not determine that they had any effect at all, which Katniss considered a complete waste of effort. "Are you certain you want to ride? Edgar can take care of the horses."

The boy straightened at the mention of his name. With arms and legs too long for the rest of him and a face that had not quite caught up to his ears and nose, Edgar had all the gangly disproportions one could curse upon a fifteen-year-old. He was also just as bad about hiding his eagerness as every other boy his age. Thank goodness, the boy liked horses. Katniss could hardly imagine the drudgery of the life he had ahead of him if he didn't. She couldn't very well deprive him of his time with the horses, could she? "No, I believe a walking tour will suffice."

She reached down towards him, Peeta placed a guiding hand on her waist, and she slipped from Daring's back into his waiting arms. Though the day was hot, she welcomed the warmth she felt every place their bodies touched. Wanting more, Katniss leaned into the embrace, and Peeta obliged, holding her there, tucked against his chest, for a moment longer than was necessary.

But there were eyes on them, and all too soon, her feet touched the ground. Katniss had never before realized what a blessing the solid ground was. It took a merciful god indeed to have created a surface that – except for the occasional groundquake – did not buck beneath one's feet or set off faster than a man could run with no warning whatsoever. "Better?" Peeta asked.

"Much."

"Good. Shall we be off then?" He offered her his arm, which she took.

"Please."

Peeta nodded goodbye to Edgar and started off down the path, farther and farther away from the picnickers that congregated on the main green. At first, Katniss struggled to keep up, her skirts always in the way. While forgoing a riding habit of her own had been a sound decision economically, she wished she had considered that Prim had at least five inches on her when she'd made it. It did not take her long to fall into a rhythm. Half a step, kick the skirts forward, half a step, kick, half a step…

"You're much better-mannered today than usual. Perhaps I should put you on a horse more often."

"I'll kill you first."

"And there's the Miss Everdeen I'm used to." Peeta grinned. "There are lots of secluded areas at Andrews Hall. I'm certain you can find a way to sneak out in your breeches to ride, as I don't see you attempting to ride sidesaddle again."

"Andrews Hall?"

"One of my brother's homes. It's where I spent most of my time growing up. Though Mother loves the city, Father much preferred our time in the country."

Katniss could not have agreed more with that sentiment. With its boulevards lined with stately townhomes, each one more in vogue, better maintained, more perfect than the last, London possessed a type of beauty all its own. But no architect's vision compared to that of God. Winding creeks and streams, vistas that extended far beyond what the eyes could see, the scent of flowers and dew on the air. No matter how much rosewater she rubbed on her wrists and neck, Katniss could not purge away the stink of London, of thousands of people pressed together, none cleaner than the dirtiest among them. But as much as she agreed, Katniss wasn't certain she followed the logic behind his statements. "And why would I be there?" she asked.

"I'd assume we'll visit Rye from time to time."

And finally, realization dawned. "I'm not getting married." In hindsight, perhaps she should not have been so blunt. Perhaps she should have softened her words, prepared him for what was coming, but instead, like Daring, she dashed forwards, hardly thinking of who might be struggling to hold on.

Seconds stretched like hours between them. She searched his face for any emotion, but Peeta's face was guarded, the blue eyes that had always been so open suddenly expressionless. "You aren't marrying me, or you're not getting married in general?"

"Both."

He snorted, but there was no real humor behind it. "I suppose one does imply the other, doesn't it?"

"I suppose so." They had slowed to a complete stop, and she slipped her arm away from his. A part of Katniss wanted to apologize, but she could find nothing to apologize for. She had been an unwilling participant in the season from the very beginning, had done everything she could to discourage male company, had been downright unpleasant when he first approached her, and yet here they were. "I understand if you want to leave now." She sounded small and scared, everything she didn't want to be.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "No." Peeta shook his head. "I apologize. I shouldn't have assumed."

"It was not an unreasonable assumption. I should have informed you earlier."

He started forwards again. "Let us speak no more of it."

Katniss suspected the subject would not stay dead for long, but she obliged him. "Are we going back?"

"No," he repeated. Oh, so he had been referring to their walk earlier then. She hadn't been certain. "It really would be a shame if you spent a season here without seeing the park. And in any case, we have a great deal to discuss."

"About?"

This time, his laugh seemed genuine. "Mister Crane. That is why you agreed to come with me, is it not?"

"Well, not the only reason." Yes, she could see where his misconceptions had arisen. She would have to do better in the future.

"Katniss." He stopped, and at the mention of her given name, she stopped as well. "I apologize. Miss Everdeen."

"You can call me Katniss."

His smile did not quite reach his eyes. "I hope we can remain friends after this."

"I hope so as well."

"Good. I would hate to have ruined a friendship over such a misunderstanding." Peeta paused for a moment, and a smile toyed at his lips. "And in any case, if I were to marry every young woman I enjoyed spending time with, I believe the law would be after me in an instant."

"We wouldn't want that," she laughed. It felt freeing to joke with him, to laugh. At times like this, she could almost swear that they had been friends for years, for they fell so naturally into rhythm.

"Your friend Mister Crane was about two steps from the poorhouse a year ago, did you know that?"

"Really?" Katniss considered it for a moment. "He seems to be doing rather well now."

"Indeed, and nobody knows how. Come on, now. I would like to get to the edge before we have to turn back." He sped up, and Katniss dashed a few steps to match his pace.

She frowned. "Isn't that strange? I would think that if he came into a great sum of money, somebody would know where it came from."

"Perhaps not. If it was family money, I'm certain that people would know who had passed. But if I found a clever way of investing and made a fortune off it, I wouldn't be in any great rush to tell everyone my secrets." Peeta nodded toward her. "I'd make an exception for you, of course."

"Unfortunately, I believe you have to have at least some money before you can invest any."

"A good point," he acknowledged. "It also makes my secret even safer."

"Unless I sell it off."

"Betrayal, then. I shall have to watch my back." The twinkle had returned to his eyes. She hoped it never left.

"Perhaps I could watch it for you."

"Then I'll be dead before the day is out."

"I do wonder how he managed it."

"You could ask your sister," Peeta suggested. She might know."

"Mister Mellark, you occasionally have some excellent ideas."

"I like to think I have my uses."

Katniss again looped her arm through his, and she smiled up at him. "I think I can find plenty of uses for you."

* * *

"No, Katniss, _you_ are the problem here. Why must you immediately assume the worst of him?"

Upon further consideration, Katniss determined that Peeta's ideas were also occasionally terrible. This was one such occasion. To be fair, though, as far as she knew, Peeta had never met her sister. Katniss wasn't certain she had met this side of Prim before. She hoped that the ill-tempered demon who had replaced her sister would go away soon. "When did I assume anything about him?"

"You have since the beginning! I can tell you don't like Mister Crane. You've never bothered to hide it, have you? But have you ever considered that it might not matter whether or not you like him as long as I do?"

"I just want to make sure you're safe." It sounded perfectly reasonable to her own ears. Katniss glanced towards her mother, lifted her eyebrows, urging her to join in, maybe force some sense into her younger daughter, but Eileen made no movement to do anything but watch. Maybe she ought to be more like her mother.

Prim scowled. Goodness gracious, she looked just like Mother when she was angry. "And so you sneak around talking to others about him behind my back? How is that supposed to keep me safe?"

"I want to know who you're getting involved with. Frankly, it worries me that you don't seem half as concerned."

"Why don't you look into your Mister Mellark, then? I'm sure there's plenty of interesting information there. Nice gentlemen scare away opera singers all the time, don't they?"

For reasons she didn't want to consider, that made her blood boil. "Leave Mister Mellark out of this."

"You're the one who brought him into it in the first place! Do you really think I don't know where you've heard your whispers? It's not as though you talk to anyone else."

"Stop it, Prim." She felt more tired than she had any reason to.

"Or what? You'll go back to insulting Mister Crane?"

Something broke within her at those words. Katniss shoved past Prim as she raced upstairs. Tears blurred the edges of her vision, but she would not cry. No, she was angry, had every right to be after her sister's treatment. Prim was being ridiculous, and now she'd followed her up into the relative safety of her bedroom. Not bodily – for all she could tell, Prim was still downstairs, probably waiting and stewing for when Katniss inevitably returned – but with her bed only a few feet away and her personal effects littered about the cramped space, Katniss could not escape her sister's presence. And why should she have to? Prim was the one being unreasonable, not her. Katniss only ever had her best interests at heart, and yet she insisted on viewing her older sister's concern as some sort of personal attack.

Her mind made up, Katniss reached underneath her bed for her knife. It was a short thing, the blade only four inches long, but Haymitch had assured her that in the proper hands, it could cause quite a bit of damage. After what he'd taught her, Katniss believed him. She slipped it into the secret pocket in her sleeve and started back down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"You're not leaving," Mother said as she strode towards the door. Katniss did not reply. "Katniss, it's less than an hour until dark, and I think it's going to rain. Come along, be reasonable. You and Prim can talk about this again in the morning, after you have both had some time to calm down."

"I need some fresh air."

"Then keep it short, at least. I don't want you out after dark. You never know what sorts are on the streets at night."

"I'll keep that in mind." Katniss slammed the door behind her.

She hadn't made it more than five steps before the first fat raindrop hit her face. Katniss glared up at the cloudy sky and kept going. If Mother couldn't stop her, she wasn't about to let London's miserable weather get in her way.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dearest Diary,_

_After much thought, I have determined that I have no legitimate complaints about Mr. Crane. Similarly, Sir Darius St. Andrews has no legitimate children, yet Mother's friends have theories about practically every redheaded, freckle-faced child in London. I find this encouraging._

* * *

Water sloshed in her shoes with every step she took. Her dress might as well have been glued to her body for how it clung to her, wet and thick and cold. She swore under her breath as she plucked her sleeve away from her arm for what must have been the hundredth time only to have it re-adhere itself an instant later. The hundred and first time, she let even the guise of propriety slip and screamed her curses to the empty street. Why shouldn't she? Nobody was there to hear her, and even if they were, they wouldn't be able to make out her words over the roar of the wind and rain.

She ought to have turned around and returned home. Katniss had no destination in mind, no reason to subject herself to the elements beyond pride and anger, but those were motivation enough to keep her feet moving as the puddles within her shoes swelled into miniature oceans and night descended over the city. Deference to her own safety led her to dig the knife out of her sleeve, clutched at the ready in stiff, near-frozen fingers.

Horrible as it was to think, she almost wished someone would attack her. Katniss could use an object on which to take out her current anger. That said object was the kind of filth that attacked women and therefore deserved worse than anything she could give him did nothing to discourage that thought. Men might have had the right idea when it came to dueling. No clamping down on the anger of the moment, no backing away out of fear of hurting another. Instead, go off somewhere secluded and see which of you had better aim and never face the problem again. Pity they had illegalized it. Women ought to at least been allowed a couple hundred years of fun before they stopped it entirely. Not that she had any idea who she would duel, but she would appreciate having the option.

She did not know how long she wandered. That London, which always seemed a swarm of activity, could be still amazed her. Still, serene, silent but for the patter of the rain against cobblestones and rooftops… Katniss could come to love this side of London. The city could never replace the Seam, but perhaps it didn't have to. The

This general goodwill towards man ended such emotions usually did. Namely, with men. With the downpour drowning out all sound, she did not hear the carriage until it was nearly upon her. Only the driver's shout alerted her to its presence, and Katniss managed to dash out of its way seconds before it would have crashed into her. A monstrous wave followed the carriage's path, soaking her up to her waist with muddy water.

"God damn it to hell!" That Haymitch's favorite curse was the first thing to come to mind reflected poorly on both of them. "Get back here!" The storm swallowed her shouts, and the mumbled threats that came after. Katniss hitched up her dripping, disgusting skirts and ran after the carriage, flinching at the watery filth from the street that splashed her legs with every step. She screamed as she ran, dimly aware that she must look mad, but that would not stop her. Every woman reached a point where she felt as if she were running through a rainstorm screaming obscenities in a too-short soaked riding habit dirtied to the point of ruin. Katniss' situation was merely a more literal interpretation of a common theme.

The carriage turned, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of its side. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized the golden crest of three birds that adorned it. Katniss had thought the design ostentatious when she had seen Crane's carriage sitting outside the Everdeen's home this afternoon. Now, her opinion dropped even further.

With a dangerous cocktail of anger and curiosity propelling her forwards, she followed Crane's carriage through London's winding streets. Katniss had some idea of where Mr. Crane lived, a mere two houses away from Peeta, and she knew that he frequented Heavensbee's, a fashionable gentleman's club, but never having visited either, she had little clue as to their final destination. For that matter, she had no real evidence that Crane was inside the carriage. Though she preferred to think him a soulless creature no more capable of generosity than the snakes she was reminded of every time she saw his nearly black eyes, he could easily have lent the carriage to a friend. Equally probable was that a relative had a similar carriage emblazoned with the same crest.

She ducked behind a tall marble fence post as the carriage came to a halt and watched as a man climbed out. Even wrapped in his coat and with his hat pulled down low over his face, the man's unusual height removed any doubts Katniss harbored that the individual she had trailed was Seneca Crane. He hurried inside without so much as a word to the driver, and she was left where she started: alone, cold, and entirely without a plan. Not that following him had been much of a plan to begin with, for she had no idea what she intended to do once she caught up with Crane and his driver, but in the moment, it felt like a purpose, a direction she had been lacking since arriving in London.

Katniss stuffed the knife back into her sleeve - for though she had no clue how to proceed, she could immediately rule out murder – and thought. Were she directionless in the thick woods that surrounded the Seam, she would climb a tree and search for some indication on which way to go. Why not apply the same strategy here? Several tall, sturdy oaks grew near the house, and once the carriage disappeared towards the stables, Katniss stole away from her hiding spot and scurried up the tallest of the trees in seconds. Aware that she could be caught at any moment, she crawled out as far as she dared on one of the upper branches and peered into the nearest window. She was rewarded with a view of the back of some rather pretty drapes and nothing else. Shaking her head, she moved to the next window. There was nobody to be seen, but at least this room had not been guarded by curtains. She considered that excellent progress.

Golden light streamed out from the far window, and Katniss crept through the branches towards it. She froze when she saw Crane sitting a desk, his chair positioned so he faced the window. For several long minutes she sat there, barely daring to breathe as she waited to be discovered, desperately searching for an escape route, and when she failed to come up with anything, thinking of any meager excuse for why she would be up in this tree, spying on him. When it became obvious Crane was too engrossed in his papers to bother looking outside, she was disappointed. If she had to spy on someone, she at least should have picked someone interesting. She could watch a man reading anywhere, and from this vantage point, she couldn't make out what he was reading. Who would have thought spying so dull? Katniss moved out of the relative safety of the leaves to get closer to the window, but it only gave her a better view of his frown. Good to know that he was unpleasant even while alone. She would have been more concerned if he wore that cold, calculated smile in private.

Crane moved one of the loose pages aside, and Katniss craned her neck to make out the contents. It looked more like a list than prose. That wasn't helpful. A shelf behind him held dozens of books, and while she could make out a few of the titles from here, they also offered her no clue to the paper's contents, for Katniss doubted there was a male member of the ton who didn't own a book or two on France.

Giving up on finding anything useful, she settled on watching the man himself. The mere thought of him still made her shudder, but as she studied him, Katniss could not single out any particular cause for her discomfort. Yes, he had a focus so intense she felt like a butterfly pinned down for display, but should a man not be driven?

_Crack!_

The noise and the blinding flash of light came so close together as to be inseparable. The world slowed as Crane's head lifted from his work, and Katniss scrambled back into the dense leaves. Not so stupid as to stay in a tree in a lightning storm, she hurried down to the ground. She could not be sure if the shouts that followed her came from the house or her own imagination, and she didn't dare glance behind her to see if anyone followed.

Katniss' heart beat a wild dance against her ribs. Every step took more energy than the last, as her shoes were now so waterlogged they could have been bricks. She could not run much longer, not when she had nowhere to run to and no way of knowing who might be looking for her. Every step took more energy than the last, as her shoes were now so waterlogged they could have been bricks. She could not run much longer, not when she had nowhere to run to and no way of knowing who might be looking for her.

Except, she realized, she did have somewhere to go. She looked over her shoulder, and seeing no one in pursuit, she stopped. Two houses away, that's what Peeta had said. She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she studied the row of stately townhouses. When he said two houses away, did he mean that there were two homes in between his and Crane's, or that if one walked away from Crane's home, that his would be the second house one encountered? Four possibilities, but she couldn't very well knock on a random door and ask for Peeta without raising questions - and eyebrows.

In the gray of the storm, salvation came in a line of orange. The exact same shade of orange, as it so happened, as the tulips that still sat in a vase by her bed. The pound of the rain could not wipe away her smile as she ran to the door, letting the tulips lining the walkway be her guides.

A footman answered the door seconds after she knocked. Katniss didn't wait for him to acknowledge her. "Hello, may I speak with Mister Mellark, please?"

He tilted his head and opened the door further, and Katniss hurried in. The warmth of the house embraced her, and she surrendered to it, closing her eyes and basking in it as it slowly eased away the cold from outside. The footman cleared his throat. "Who should I tell Mister Mellark is waiting for him?"

Katniss' eyes snapped open, and she hoped the man wouldn't see the color that rose to her cheeks. "Katniss Everdeen, please."

Her name was met with a glint of recognition. "I will alert him to your presence, Miss Everdeen. May I escort you to the parlor? There is a fireplace there that I believe you will have some use for." She could have sworn a smile twitched at the edges of his lips.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" Katniss turned away from the fire to scowl at Peeta as he entered the room. Seeing her, he took a half step back, a move certain to flatter any woman in his acquaintance. Luckily for him, he recovered quickly. "Are you all right? Here, have my coat."

"Yes, I'm quite all –" His deep blue coat was warm across her shoulders, and she wrapped it tightly around herself. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." He moved a piece of damp hair back behind her ear. "I had Mrs. Carren put on tea, but I'm not sure tea is going to be enough. Were you trying to catch your death?"

"Not actively." His jacket smelled like him. Katniss pulled it closer to her chest.

"I'm glad." They both went silent for a moment. "I can have Mrs. Carren find you some dry clothes, if you would like."

"I'll be there in just a moment, dear!" The woman's words came from the next room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carren!" Peeta shouted back. He moved in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Watch out. She'll mother you to death if you aren't careful, and she knows everything."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." She wasn't sure if her words should be directed towards Peeta or his housekeeper.

"Peeta, the kettle's on, do you mind being a dear and taking it off when it's ready?" She had not heard a servant be so familiar with their master since coming to London, and had nearly given up hope that they existed in this awful city. Mrs. Carren, who turned out to be a tiny woman in her sixties, stopped in the doorway. "Oh, she is just as pretty as you said!"

Katniss blushed, and she studiously avoided looking for Peeta's reaction. "Good evening, Mrs. Carren."

"Found yourself in a spot of rain, didn't you? Come along, we'll get you fixed up in no time." She motioned Katniss forward. "And Peeta, remember the tea!"

"I'd be afraid not to."

She shook her head. "I love that boy, but I swear he'll be the death of me." She kept up a constant chatter as she led Katniss upstairs. "I'm not sure I'll have anything that will fit you, but we can certainly get you dried off." Katniss had been wondering about that herself, for Mrs. Carren stood a good four inches shorter than Katniss, and she could not have weighed more than six stone. She wanted to thank her for the effort all the same, but before Katniss could get in a word, she was off again. "I'm certain I have some of the master's old clothing somewhere – couldn't bear to get rid of it as he got older, you know how it is watching little ones grow up – that ought to work. Never thought I'd have to bring them out for a woman, doesn't seem modest, but we have to make the best out of what we're given, don't we?"

Katniss nodded. It was the closest she had come to actively participating in the conversation so far.

"And in any case, there's not too much of a need for modesty, is there? You should hear the way Peeta talks about you. I can't get in a word edgewise." Katniss bit her lip at that one "Don't you worry, dear, every word of it is wonderful. You couldn't find yourself a more smitten man in England, I reckon, and such a nice one as well. I suppose I might be biased on that point, knowing him for so –"

She couldn't let this continue. "We're not getting married."

Mrs. Carren's mouth dropped open. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed, seeing you together. Right in here." She opened the door to a bedroom and motioned Katniss inside. "If you'll start getting yourself cleaned up, I'll go fetch you some clothes."

"Thank you."

"And please, do know I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have made assumptions." With that, Mrs. Carrens left, and Katniss was alone.

Her stockings were off within seconds. They made a wet sound as they hit the floor. She used one of the rags on the nightstand to towel off her face and neck, and while that worked well, using it to smooth and dry her hair only made it look more of a rats' nest than it did already. Mrs. Carrens returned halfway through her failed attempt with an armload of Peeta's old clothing.

Katniss often wore breeches at home in the Seam. Skirts hindered her ability to ride, to help in the fields, to climb up to the roof on a moment's notice to patch one of the manor house's constant leaks. The clothes Mrs. Carren helped her into would have felt familiar if not for one major difference. After Father's death twelve years ago, all of her breeches had come from his wardrobe. They hung loosely around her legs and ended at her lower shins. These, in contrast, clung to her legs and stopped just below her knees. Even with stockings covering her lower legs, every curve of her body was clearly delineated, exposed for any who cared to see.

That didn't mean she was going to complain. She would rather go naked than put on Prim's soaked riding habit again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. Now, if our Peeta's done his job like I told him, there should be tea waiting downstairs for you. Can you find your way back, or would you like me to accompany you?"

"I'm sure I can find the parlor again, thank you." Though larger than the Everdeens' rented house, compared to many of the other townhomes she had visited over these last few weeks, Peeta's residence was very modest. She had no issue finding her way back to the parlor – and even less of an issue with the plate of cheese buns that sat there, waiting for her. Katniss grabbed one.

"I thought you might appreciate those," Peeta said.

Katniss waited to respond until she had swallowed her first enormous bite of cheese bun. "You thought correctly." She sat down, and he moved to sit across from her.

"I see Mrs. Carren found some clothes for you. I must say, they look better on you than they ever did on me." Despite his words, he did an admirable job of keeping his eyes from roaming away from her face.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."

"Why would it be anything else? I like to think I'm very pretty." She had to laugh at that. "Don't choke!" Peeta warned. "We're already going to have to figure out some excuse for your coming here alone. I'm not sure I could explain away why you'd died in my parlor."

"And here I thought you might miss me."

"While I would, I doubt that missing you would involve me being hanged." Peeta went silent for a moment as she took another bite, and when he spoke again, his voice was serious. "Why are you here, Katniss?"

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hello."

"No, why are you really here?"

She set her cheese bun aside and met his eyes. "I fought with Prim and needed some fresh air to calm down." Not exactly the truth, but it was hardly a lie either.

He nodded. "I often end up three miles away from where I started when I'm taking casual walks."

Fine, if he wanted the truth, he could have it. "It's rather a long story, but I ended up in a tree in Mister Crane's yard. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to stay there during an electrical storm, so I came here. Your tulips are beautiful, by the way."

"Miss Everdeen, what would you like me to do with your knife?" came Mrs. Carrens' voice from upstairs.

Peeta sat straight. "You went to Crane's house with a knife?"

"It's a long –" Katniss shook her head. "If you could leave it in the pocket please, Mrs. Carrens. I'll take care of it once I get home!" She turned back to Peeta. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I assure you that I mean Mister Crane no harm. I was a young woman walking through London alone after sunset. I'm certain you can understand why I might have wanted to have some protection."

"Were you spying on him?"

"It wasn't what I was planning when I left my house, but I did try to, yes."

"Tried to?"

"I didn't see anything interesting," Katniss explained.

Peeta laughed at that. "You didn't see anything interesting, and therefore it doesn't count as spying. Miss Everdeen, I like the way you think."

So she was Miss Everdeen again. She ought to be pleased at that, for though she didn't have the heart to tell him to stop, Katniss really was too informal considering their relationship, but Miss Everdeen now felt detached and cold coming from his mouth. But that wasn't the matter at hand. "I'm not sure I do," she replied. "It seems to get me into trouble."

"Coming alone to see a bachelor like myself, you mean?"

She shrugged and busied herself with another bite of cheese bun.

"You know, for someone who doesn't want to get married, you have an odd way of showing it."

"I should've thought before I came here. I apologize for inconveniencing you, and I'll leave straight away." When had she ever been so formal around Peeta? He had become a friend - her only friend, at least here in London – within minutes, and now she was treating him like a stranger again.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't go out in this weather. Wait until the storm subsides, and I'll have Edgar take you home. My carriage is unmarked. No one will have to know where you were."

"Thank you for your hospitality."

"Thank you for letting me be your host." He grinned, a light coming to those blue eyes that she hadn't realized she missed. "After our conversation this afternoon, I thought I might never have the opportunity."

Of course he would have to mention that. "If you always have these," she lifted the tiny sliver of cheese bun she had not yet finished, "I'm afraid you might have some difficulty keeping me away."

"Ah, so now I know how to bait a trap for Katniss Everdeen."

"I trust you won't use this newfound power against me."

He leaned back in his seat, the devil's own grin upon his features. Were this any other man, she would be concerned, but though she had no evidence to support her conclusion, Katniss doubted Peeta could hurt so much as a fly. "I'll be sure to wait until you've let your guard down."

"It'll never work."

"Until then, you'll just have to tell me what you saw in Crane's house."

"Nothing interesting, I'm afraid."

"Then perhaps you should make up something interesting."

"The fourteen snakes he keeps in his bedroom." She wasn't sure why that sprang to mind, but on second thought, snakes and Seneca Crane seemed a natural pairing.

"You looked in his bedroom?"

"Of course not!" Her cheeks flamed. "Just his office."

"Until we have evidence to the contrary, I'm going to assume he does have those snakes. Fourteen, you said?"

"If you're going to believe it, you might as well increase it to twenty. I find round numbers far easier to keep track of."

"Twenty it is then." Peeta grabbed a cheese bun for himself. A wise move, considering she would eat the entire plate herself if nobody stopped her. "Anything else you would like to add to his menagerie? I think some spider would suit."

She pretended to give it serious consideration. "Bats."

"I'm rather fond of bats," Peeta said.

"Then you and Mister Crane have something in common. You might make great friends."

"Heaven help me."

Katniss grinned. "With this being Mister Crane we're discussing, I'm not sure that's the direction you should be looking."


	6. Chapter 6

_Dearest Diary,_

_Sometimes, I think I must be the worst-spirited individual in the country. I am an ungrateful friend, a poorly-behaved daughter, and the worst pessimist anyone has ever had the misfortune of knowing. I believe I might very well be the human equivalent of a cup of spoiled milk._

* * *

_Dearest Diary,_

_I rarely make multiple entries in a day, but reviewing my words from earlier, I could not allow my entry from earlier to stand uncorrected. While I may indeed be a generally unpleasant person, I must have forgotten while writing my first entry that Haymitch exists and, to the best of my knowledge, remains in England._

* * *

The taste in her mouth grew sour as the Everdeen's rented house came into view. She longed to tell the coachman to turn around, take her back to Peeta's house, but Katniss knew that could only make her situation worse. Katniss reached down to smooth her dress, but her fingers encountered the rougher cloth of Peeta's tightly-fitted trousers instead. That she was returning home in men's clothing might actually be the easiest element of tonight's adventure to explain. The thought put her situation in a perspective she would rather not have considered.

No reason to put it off any longer. Katniss grabbed the basket that held her wet clothing and let herself out of the carriage the second it rolled to a stop. Freeing, that. Every woman ought to try it at least once. "Thank you!" she shouted towards the driver, and though Edgar must have responded, but she heard nothing as she raced towards the door. The rain had seemed to be letting up when they left, but it had returned with a new vigor. Her second set of clothing for the evening was soaked within steps. Oh, she hoped Mother had left the door unlocked. She would hate to have to stand in the rain as she waited for someone to answer.

As though in response to her prayers, the door swung open as she neared. "Where have you been?" Before she could gauge if those words were spoken out of anger or concern, Mother pulled her inside and into a hug. "We didn't know where you were. I was about ten minutes from going out searching."

"I suppose you don't have to now." She regretted her flippancy the instant the words were gone, but there would be no taking them back. Mother moved just far enough away to glare at her. "I'm sorry."

With one final squeeze, Eileen released her. "You ought to be." She frowned. "Katniss, why..."

"I can explain." No, she really couldn't, at least not in a way that would appease her mother. Or the gossipmongers, for that matter, because it was only a matter of time before this got out.

"You went to his house, didn't you?" She didn't give Katniss time to answer. "You did. Of course you did. I should have known. Middle of the night, no chaperone, no -"

"Katniss is back?" Prim's voice floated from the back of the house, and an instant later, she appeared in her nightgown. "Are you all right? We were terribly worried about you, with the storm and all. Please don't be mad at me, Katniss. I shouldn't have been so cross with you. Wait, why are you wearing men's clothes?"

Katniss shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but she should have known she wouldn't get a word in. "Go back upstairs, Prim." Mother had always preferred to scold her daughters without the other one present. When they were younger, it had been a godsend. As long as Prim didn't manage to weasel the details out of Mother, her younger sister had nothing to lord over her later. Pity she had never seen the obvious drawback to this arrangement. Katniss would rather like some sympathetic listeners now.

Eileen waited until the she heard the door close behind Prim. She pursed her lips. "Further, please."

Prim groaned, but the footsteps moved further away. Katniss set her basket aside and started to sit down, but Mother's words stopped her. "No, you've already ruined my evening, I'm not going to let you ruin my furniture as well. Stand up." Katniss knew better than to disobey. Instead, Mother sat down in the spot that had almost been hers. "Tell me exactly what happened. I want every detail."

"I went for a walk and ended up near Peeta's house." That much was true, though it left out a few of the particulars. "It started thundering, so I asked to be let inside, and he was kind enough to lend me some dry clothing."

"And that's your story."

"That is the story." Mother's eyes were very blue and her gaze very steady. Katniss swallowed, but the lump in her throat did not budge. Where had this part of Eileen Everdeen been hiding in those trying days after Father's death?

"It seems quite the coincidence that your wanderings took you to his house, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Katniss hadn't the faintest idea what to do with her hands. She tugged her sleeves lower over her wrists, pushed a piece of hair back behind her ear, and got halfway through cleaning out the dirt from under her fingernails before she accepted that Mother wasn't going to be the one who broke down first. "It was entirely innocent, I assure you."

Mother's features relaxed, but only slightly. "Katniss, with you, I've never had to worry about that." Maybe Prim really wasn't listening in. Katniss felt certain her younger sister wouldn't have been able to resist jumping in at that. "Honestly, I'm not certain you'd know where to start with -"

"Mother!" Heat flooded Katniss' cheeks.

"I suppose we can go into that another time," Eileen conceded. One side of her mouth perked up into a smile at her daughter's reaction, but her amusement did not last for long. She sagged back into her seat. "I'm afraid that not everyone knows you as well as I. The gossip will not be kind when it comes out where you've been."

"I can live through it." She wasn't sure of the words until she spoke them, but Katniss could feel the truth there. Yes, words hurt, she knew better than to doubt that, but in a few months, she would be back home at the Seam, never to return to London. With escape so near, she could withstand anything.

"Perhaps. But can Prim?" The thought made her stomach twist. "It's not fair, Katniss, I know that, but your actions reflect on her as well. You might be happy enough to go home at the end of the season with no husband, but I doubt your sister is."

A light came to Prim's face every time she held a baby. She had talked constantly of weddings and children for as long as Katniss could remember. And here she was, ready to ruin all of that for her over nothing more than some poor driving and a dose of curiosity that could kill both the cat and his entire family several times over. Though a puddle had formed beneath her on the wooden floor, Katniss' throat felt terribly dry. Perhaps she really had caught her death earlier tonight. Right now, never having to worry about gossip or manners or propriety ever again didn't seem the worst possible fate. "Maybe nobody saw me." Her voice came out as little more than a whisper.

Mother nodded. "It's possible. I imagine it would be difficult to identify you with the rain."

"And this isn't my usual attire." She felt a flicker of hope, one just bright enough to be dangerous. "Peeta's coach isn't marked. Even if someone saw and didn't think I was a delivery boy, they would have no way of knowing where I'd come from." Nobody saw her at Crane's house – she'd been sure of that – so there was no reason to think anyone knew she had been at Peeta's to start with. In any case, who had the time to stare out their window, waiting for the next scandal to pass by? Surely people had better ways to spend their lives

"And if they did?" It never ceased to amaze her just how little water it took to douse a spark. "What will you do then?"

Katniss looked down at her feet. Seeing that they were indeed right where she had left them, she found she had no excuse not to meet her mother's eyes. "I'll do what I have to for Prim."

Mother nodded, and her face softened. "You may go upstairs, Katniss. Find something dry." Katniss started towards her bedroom, so lost in the dreadful possibilities that lurked over her mind that she nearly missed her mother's next, far quieter words. "And please, don't give me another fright like that."

"I will try," she promised.

* * *

Prim sat crouched on her bed, waiting. "Well, what happened?"

Katniss shook her head. Apparently, that wasn't enough of an answer for her younger sister. "What does Mother think? Are you getting married?"

She ignored her sister and collapsed down onto her bed. The mattress was too hard for collapsing to be very comfortable. Hopefully, that would be her final mistake of the day.

"Katniss, tell me. I'm not a child, you know. I can understand what's happening, and it's not fair of you and Mother to leave me in the dark when this impacts me as well." Katniss squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that by some confusion of the senses that would block out Prim's voice. For a second, she almost thought it had worked, but then the mattress dipped under Prim's weight. "Come on, Katniss. I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me." If she wanted to prove she was an adult, Prim certainly had an unusual way of going about it.

She cracked an eye open to see Prim hovering over her, their faces only an inch or two apart. "Prim!"

"What's happening?" She moved in even closer.

Katniss tried to worm her way out, but there wasn't far she could go in the cramped space. "Go away."

"Tell me if you and Mister Mellark are getting married, and I promise I'll leave you alone."

Katniss had little faith that Prim would honor that promise, but the offer tempted her all the same. "I don't know. It depends if any gossip springs up."

"Oh." Prim moved to lie next to her, and Katniss wrapped an arm around her. They often slept like this as children, and though it had been years since they last did so, it felt natural for Prim to nestle in against her. "How do you feel about that? Mister Mellark isn't horrible, is he?"

"No, he isn't." Perhaps that was part of the problem. She would never have gotten herself into this situation with a less charming man.

Prim kissed her cheek. "I am sorry for earlier."

"Me too." And she was. Prim overreacted, certainly, but one expected that from a girl of seventeen. Katniss had no such excuse.

"I hope you aren't forced into anything."

She gave her sister a gentle squeeze. "Could we please leave it alone?" Katniss felt more than saw Prim's nod.

* * *

Mary's deep voice traveled better than Prim's or Mother's through the walls of the townhouse. "She's out this morning." A pause. "No, I don't know when she'll be back. I'll give her your card as soon as she returns." Katniss knew exactly how the conversation would go, had in fact been there when Mother gave Mary her instructions, but the lie still hurt.

Like many awful but well-intentioned decisions, it had been made in perfectly pleasant conditions, in this case, around the table at breakfast. The room smelled like ham, which Katniss normally loved, but today, she couldn't bring herself to eat it. The arguments being put forth made perfect sense. It was likely that no one had seen her, but what if someone had made out a figure in the storm but been unable to put a name to it? Logically, it was best to stay away from Peeta for a week or two, make sure the incident really had blown over before anyone bothered to even speak their names in the same sentence. Katniss stared at her plate and wished it gone, not agreeing with any of the plans being made, but not arguing against them either.

She forced herself not to shout down to him and apologize. Instead, Katniss strained to make out Peeta's reply. "Do you know when or if your mistress will be in tomorrow?" She missed him. The realization hit her squarely in the chest. It had been barely twelve hours since they had last seen each other, but she missed him.

"I'm afraid not, sir."

She moved from her spot on her bed to look out the window. Katniss couldn't see the front door from this angle, but she could see his coach, and she saw the slump in Peeta's shoulders when he climbed inside.

Later, when Mary gave her his visiting card, she put it on her nightstand. She wasn't sure if she was trying to comfort or torment herself.

* * *

Katniss' back hurt. Her feet hurt too, but she could handle the pinching around her toes if the soreness in her back would just go away. Worse, while she wanted nothing more than to excuse herself to sit down and give her back a rest, she had to stand there and smile at the main cause of her discomfort.

Not that Hawthorne was particularly difficult to smile at, of course. Nor had he purposefully made her uncomfortable, though his request for a dance had set off a chain reaction that resulted in her entire dance card being filled before she realized what was happening. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to know what about a short, rather plain woman with no money whatsoever could interest one of the richest men in England. And so she suffered through a dozen dances with just as many men whose names and titles and faces all blurred together into a bland and decidedly unappetizing type of memory stew before she ended up dancing another waltz in the arms of Lord Hawthorne.

It was a waste of time on their part. Katniss could have told them what Hawthorne wanted from her: a willing audience for his stories about his younger siblings. Posy was quickly becoming an excellent horsewoman, and not wanting to be rude, Katniss agreed to have her over some afternoon for tea so that the girl could make the company of some well-mannered, accomplished women a few years older than her. It took a minute to register that Gale was referring to her and Prim. Really, she ought to have told him not to waste his sister's time, for he could find someone better, but what was done was done. After that, the conversation moved to his younger brother, Vick, who was a year older than Prim and just starting at Oxford.

She tried to listen to Gale's breakdown of the program at Oxford, truly she did, but she was tired and not entirely certain she wanted to know how one could do mathematics that didn't involve any actual numbers. That Katniss could feel people watching her didn't help matters. Politeness dictated that she should keep her eyes on her partner, but she longed to look over her shoulder and see who was watching them.

"What do you think of it?"

Belatedly, Katniss realized she had no idea what he had been talking about for the past minute. "Pardon?"

"Are you feeling unwell? You seem distracted." Normally, that would constitute a scolding, but she sensed real concern in Hawthorne's voice.

"I am rather tired."

"You should rest a moment, then." Hawthorne guided her away from the dancers and found her a chair. Perhaps this was what the storybooks were referring to when they mentioned knights in shining armor. "Would you care for some lemonade?" Hawthorne had best be careful. He might break the scale if her estimation of him continued to rise.

"Yes, please." He disappeared towards the refreshments, and for the first time this evening, she was alone. Sweet, blessed solitude. Katniss allowed her eyes to drift shut.

"Good evening."

She didn't open her eyes. "Good evening."

Peeta sat down beside her. She wished she wasn't so hyper-aware of his body as to sense that even with her eyes closed. "I like your plan. I hope you won't mind if I use it in the future."

"It is working rather well right now."

"Luckily, I don't know anyone nearly as obnoxious as myself, so I think I would be able to get away with a nap."

"That is very fortunate." Admitting defeat, she opened her eyes to look at him. "How are you tonight?"

"Well. I hear you've been busy these past few days."

"Oh." She should have known something along those lines was coming. She still struggled for something to say. "I suppose I have been."

"I saw you at your window." Unable to explain, she dropped her gaze. Peeta shifted in his seat, and a moment later, he pressed a small bag into her hands. "Your stockings," he explained. "Mrs. Carren noticed them after you left."

"Thank you." She hadn't even noticed they were gone.

His fingers lingered next to hers on the bag, not quite touching. She pushed down the urge to close that gap. Peeta shook his head, and when her eyes moved to his face, she found a small, sad smile there. "Have a nice evening, Katniss." He rose before she had an opportunity to say goodbye.

Katniss lurched up to follow him, but then Hawthorne was there, two glasses of lemonade in hand. "Was he bothering you?"

"No, he's… we were just talking. Thank you." She accepted the glass of lemonade and sagged more than sat back down.

Hawthorne brow furrowed as he moved to sit next to her. "Stockings?" he whispered.

She could do nothing but shake her head.


	7. Chapter 7

_Dearest Diary,_

_Lord Hawthorne brought his younger sister Miss Posy Hawthorne over for tea today, presumably to expose her to older, successful women. I am still not convinced he really believes I fit this description, but until proven otherwise, I shall take it as a compliment. What he thought she would learn also remains to be seen. I found the young Miss Hawthorne to be exceptionally pleasant, polite, charming, and a wonderful conversationalist. It is a pity she doesn't take after her older brother._

* * *

The next morning, she awoke to find a stunning bouquet of pink roses waiting for her downstairs. Katniss' heart jumped in her chest, and she hurried for the note that accompanied them. She did not realize that she was smiling until she saw the signature and the expression was washed away.

"Hawthorne was very kind to send such lovely flowers," Mother said from the table.

Katniss nodded. "That he was." She folded up the note again and set it aside.

"I imagine he'll come calling this afternoon. You should wear the blue dress, and we'll do something special with your hair."

"I liked the curls she wore last night," Prim added around a piece of toast. For that, Mother frowned at her. "I suppose Hawthorne must have liked them as well."

"They were very pretty. What do you think, Katniss?"

She didn't look away from the roses. "I think the two of you know best." She brushed one of the petals with her finger, half-hoping it would fall from the flower and make the bouquet a little less perfect, but it held firm.

* * *

Hawthorne did indeed come calling that afternoon. The next day, he returned for tea with his younger sister in tow. Two days later, he escorted the entire Everdeen family to get lemon ices at the fashionable shop near the park.

After three engagements in nearly as many days, she could no longer avoid the reality that Lord Hawthorne was courting her. And though Katniss knew far too well what could happen when one allowed such an interest to fester, she allowed it. She tried to tell herself that it was simply easier to let him realize she was unsuitable on his own, for any intelligent man would soon realize that a woman so lacking when it came to basic niceties would make for a poor wife and a worse mother. That excuse rang hollow, but she had no desire to hurt him as she had Peeta. Though she had sent Peeta a letter the morning after the ball explaining her position, and another two days later in case the first one had never reached him, she had heard nothing in return. Katniss prayed that such silence was temporary and that they could return to being friends as soon as his hurt feelings had healed, but with every passing hour, such a happy outcome seemed less likely.

So instead of a riding lesson, for she would be willing to submit even to an hour spent sidesaddle on Daring if it meant she could see Peeta again, Katniss found herself wandering through the vast Hawthorne House gardens with Hawthorne himself. Mother, now hyper-vigilant to any possibility of scandal, had insisted on accompanying her. She sat in the gazebo and chatted with the dowager Lady Hawthorne as they roamed, always within sight. The gardens themselves were impressive, though not of a style that Katniss much cared for. The landscape garden had long seemed to her stuffy and forced, the exacting detail it required never quite matching the ancient elegance it meant to emulate.

Hawthorne – for though he had given her permission the day before to use his first name, Katniss couldn't convince herself to think of him as Gale – more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. He stopped often to admire the blossoms, stroking the silky buds and asking for Katniss' opinion on them. She had to admit that despite her dislike of the garden, it did produce beautiful flowers. The roses he selected for her admiration were larger than any she had seen at home, easily as wide as the palm of her hand, and they came in an enormous variety of brilliant colors. There were unfamiliar flowers as well, blooms that travelers had carried back from all over the world. "The gardeners have to take special care with these," Hawthorne said, thumbing a purple flower that grew in globe-like starbursts of delicate blossoms. "Alliums are from Persia. The climate here isn't right for them, but with the right soil and a patient gardener, they can survive."

"But do they grow as large as they would have had they been left in their native country? I should think they would want more sunshine and less rain than England gives them."

Hawthorne shook his head. "I have never been to Persia, but I have read that they can grow to ten inches across."

"Then perhaps they should have been left there."

"But then how could we appreciate them? Beauty is wasted if left to rot alone." Finally, Hawthorne's hand moved away from the allium. He was watching her now, his gaze intense, and she found she had nothing to say. "I am grateful to whoever brought them here. I appreciate fine things."

Not wanting to linger here any longer, she pulled forward. He followed, catching up to her within seconds. "I want to see the ruins," she explained. "Though I'm not sure these qualify, considering they started out wrecked." That people wasted fortunes on roofless, half-crumbling structures boggled her mind, but the style remained. Like the alliums, men with too much money and too little sense cultivated the beauty of Greece and Rome into their landscape gardens, and no lack of deteriorated shrines and temples would stand in their way.

Katniss allowed herself a chuckle at the stairs that led up into the shrine. The builders had gone to great lengths to reflect age and decay in their work. Half of the columns around her ended in splinters, and when she moved closer, Katniss saw hairline cracks in the stone. They had even stained the marble to replicate the ripe golden tones of Poussin's Rome, but the stairs wore sharp edges and rigid lines with none of the softness granted by age. Inconvenience, after all, was far too much to pay for a true replica.

"You do not like it?" Hawthorne would not understand her amusement.

Katniss shook her head. "No, it's fascinating." To prove her interest, she moved over towards one of the pillars, tracing its sweeping lines up towards the sky, which was unmarred by louds on this rare sunny day.

Hawthorne allowed her a moment of quiet, then cleared his throat. Katniss looked back towards him. "I've been wondering why Mister Mellark had your stockings."

He had thought about that for three days? Surely the man needed a hobby. Sensing that remark would not be appreciated, Katniss instead smiled up at him. "I'm impressed you managed to wait so long to ask. I thought you'd have inquired that evening."

"It didn't seem prudent with so many people about. I wouldn't want someone drawing the wrong conclusions about your character." She counted it as a point in Hawthorne's favor that he assumed that her behavior had been completely innocent. That her behavior had indeed been mostly innocent, she counted in her own favor. "But you can understand my concern, of course."

"Of course." No, she couldn't really, and it didn't quite seem fair that he could ask after her behavior when she was expected to simply accept and dismiss any of his past affairs, but that did seem like the appropriate response.

When she volunteered nothing more, he slowed. "Well?"

"There's not much to tell." She wondered what proportion of lies started with that sentence and decided not to add to it. If Hawthorne wanted the whole story, he could squeeze it out of her question by question.

"I'm glad."

"Me too." She couldn't resist the addition.

He frowned. If he kept that up, Hawthorne would have terrible lines in his forehead before he hit forty. On second thought, his face might not be smooth at thirty-five, for Katniss could already pick out where the creases were beginning to develop. "For an unmarried woman whose reputation is at stake, you seem unconcerned by the possible consequences of your actions. Is your interest in Mister Mellark not as dead as I've been led to believe?"

"I don't think I've led you to believe anything, Gale." The name felt foreign on her tongue. "You can hardly blame me for any conclusions you've come to by yourself."

"And if I asked, what would you tell me?" His words were calm, but they held a hint of something ugly.

"I would have told you that Mister Mellark and I are friends, and that there is not, has never been, and will never be any other interest between us." She practically spat out the words. "And if you have any other questions, I suggest you ask me before making any conclusions, as what lingers in your imagination seems to have very little connection with reality."

Hawthorne's face went stony. "I think we should join our mothers now." He offered his arm, and when she made no move to take it, he grabbed her hand and looped her arm around his. Katniss was too stunned to pull away. "We can revisit this topic tomorrow at Mrs. Trinket's ball, after you've had time to calm down."

* * *

He waited until their second dance to bring up the topic. "You are ready to discuss this rationally?"

"I don't believe that there's anything to be discussed." She wanted to kick him in the shins for yesterday. Because Katniss wasn't willing to face the consequences associated with that decision, she had to settle for stepping on his toes as often as possible. Considering how poorly she usually danced, she wasn't certain he noticed any difference.

Hawthorne winced when she managed to sneak in a little kick. _Serves him right._ "Sorry."

"I've been meaning to apologize for yesterday. I should have been gentler with you." That wasn't a real apology. One could intend to do something a hundred times over and never actually do it. He had the rueful smile down pat. "I suppose I needed some time to calm down as well."

"Indeed." Katniss ought to be kinder. Everyone made mistakes, and considering that she possessed a rather quick temper of her own, it seemed hypocritical of her to hold a moment's outburst against him. Still, that was reason talking. When did she ever listen to reason?

The familiar waltz entered its final measures. "I would appreciate it if you would leave me by the refreshments," she said, her tone cold.

"We should discuss the matter, Katniss. I want this out of the way before the night is over."

Katniss' eyes narrowed. "And I think I might still need some more time to calm down."

"Very well, then." He steered them towards the edge of the ballroom. "I will call on you tomorrow." He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to it. "Goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight." She made a show of surveying the refreshments until she sensed he was long gone. Once she felt certain Hawthorne wouldn't be back anytime soon, she allowed her shoulders to relax. Her dance card held several more names, but if they somehow happened not to find her, she could pass the rest of the evening unbothered. A brisk stroll around the ballroom might do her some good, and if the noise of the crowd somehow drowned out the sounds of her partners trying to get her attention, well, it would be quite a shame, wouldn't it?

She had almost completed her first lap of the ballroom when she spotted him. Katniss' grip on her glass tightened, and she forced herself to turn the other direction. But Peeta stayed with her as surely as if he walked beside her. She had done an excellent job so far of not thinking about him so far this evening – spite and toe-stomping had stolen any time she had for pining – but now that she'd seen him, there was no forgetting how she'd longed for him this last week. She cursed under her breath and turned back to around. Katniss Everdeen did not run away. She posited herself at the edge of the ballroom, crossing her arms over her chest as the object of her annoyance again came into view.

Peeta always presented himself well, but tonight, he stunned. His deep blue coat followed the lines of his body, revealing the taper from his shoulders to his waist, and though its gold buttons were perfectly polished, their gleam could not compete with that of his hair. She could not see his legs, but her memory happily supplied an image of silky stockings stretched taut over muscular calves. If this was all for the benefit of his current partner, it was surely wasted. Lady Johanna Mason had a reputation that could make even the most sophisticated courtesan's cheeks blush scarlet. For years, rumors had swirled of affairs with the daughter of a neighboring earl, a scullery maid in her uncle's household, and three dozen other women scattered across Europe. If she were anything but the daughter of a duke, society would have cast her aside fifty times over. The Axewood dukedom protected her, turning what would have been a source of shame into a point of interest, if one that even the gossipmongers only dared to whisper about behind the safety of their fans.

Perhaps the woman's exploits had not been as confined to the female sex as Katniss believed. Lady Mason moved in towards Peeta, close enough that her breast grazed against Peeta's arm with every step. Katniss' glass clinked harshly against the chair beside her, and she felt a few drops of lemonade seep through the thin fabric of her glove. She glared at the yellow stains left behind. Katniss' eyes narrowed, her gaze aimed at Peeta. If he felt her eyes on him, he made no sign of it. He beamed down at his partner, his face taking on the light that came over him whenever he made a joke.

A well of emotions bubbled up within her, and Katniss found herself too weak, too worn down by the days of loneliness to push them away. She did not want him, not in the way he had once wanted her, yet she hated seeing his attentions laid on another. Jealousy was an ugly beast, and in this case an unnecessary one as well, but now that it had its claws on her, it refused to let go. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on her lemonade, the couple was always there at the far edges of her vision. Miss Mason's laughter could not have been any louder than any of the other noises in the room, but it followed her, buzzing at her ear like a bee, begging to be swatted away.

On second thought, perhaps Katniss Everdeen did run away. All the best strategists would agree that occasionally one needed to retreat.

* * *

She swore she'd already passed some of these doors. Yes, all the doors in this wing of the Trinket household were identical, but she saw something familiar in the layout of this corridor, in the arrangement of doorways in the seemingly endless hall. Where was everyone? A home this enormous required scores of servants to maintain it. They couldn't all be minding the guests. For the tenth time, Katniss stilled, straining her ears for any sign of life.

_There_. Something besides silence, thank God. Katniss hurried down the corridor. If she could find her way back to the ladies' retiring room, she knew now that a right turn would take her back to the ball. She slowed as she neared the source of the noise. The voices that leaked from under the door in front of her were low and male. Not the ladies' retiring room, then. She raised her hand to knock, and it must have been Providence itself that made her pause.

"My contact has been called before the tribunal. I can't know if he's going to keep his head, much less if he'll be able to pay."

"I was promised payment." She pressed her ear to the wood of the door, trying to catch every word. The man's voice lowered even further. "My information is valuable. Someone in the government will want it."

"You know the situation in Paris," the first man protested. "Someone with money and power today could be kneeling before the guillotine tomorrow. You knew the risks getting into this."

"I don't think you understand." Katniss' eye widened at the way the man held onto his s's, drawing them out until they were nearly a snake's hiss. She staggered away from the door, hardly daring to breathe as she hurried back down the hall. The distance did not allow her to escape Crane's next words. "You will find a buyer for me, or you will regret it."


	8. Chapter 8

_Dearest Diary,_

_I must apologize for my recent neglect. I promised myself that this would be a lighthearted record of my time in London, but I struggle to see any levity in these last few days. My concerns have shifted from the frivolities and amusements that seem so common here to grave matters indeed. Most concerning, I fear that one of those graves might be my own._

* * *

During a particularly long carriage ride, Katniss had once hypothesized that there were two types of panic. She had experienced the first and better-recognized variety while attempting to ride Daring. It was a sharp terror, the mind's knee-jerk reaction to the realization that it might be seconds away from death. The second came when collection letters arrived and there was no money with which to pay them. It stalked its prey for weeks, always lingering at the very edges of their vision, and when this panic sensed weakness, it pounced.

She now discovered a third, far rarer variety. It blossomed slowly, like a night lily in the moonlight, and one could watch, cognizant but helpless, as it devoured them. This panic rose with every step she took away from the room where Crane and his associate schemed, crystallizing as she began to understand the possible depths of the trouble she had found herself in. Katniss knew she must get away before Crane realized she had been listening in, but the corridors seemed to double back on themselves. The further she went, the closer she felt Crane to be, and Katniss found herself moving faster and faster until she was racing through the halls of the Trinkets' mansion. She passed countless artworks, all of them both familiar and alien at once. The texture beneath her feet changed from stone to wood to thick, luxurious carpeting and back again, and now she could not remember what it had been outside the ballroom.

Katniss' ankle rolled, and she stumbled to the ground. Her elbow dragged across the floor. It stung like hell, and she hissed at the pain, but Katniss scrambled back to her feet. She had made too much noise. If anyone was searching, they would be sure to find her now. She hitched her skirts up another inch and ran, constantly glancing back over her shoulder. Crane could linger in any shadow, lurk behind any door, be waiting for her at any corner. And perhaps he had her in his clutches now, for she heard voices, and Katniss had run so far that she must be several wings away from the party by now. She couldn't stop, though, despite her lungs' begging and the burning in her legs, for to do so would be to admit defeat, and –

_Music_. The string quartet. She rushed through the next set of doors, which led her back to the ladies' refreshing room. Katniss followed two unfamiliar back to the ballroom. She could have fainted in relief. Thankfully, she didn't have the chance to do so before she spotted a familiar face.

"Where have you been?" Hawthorne asked as he pushed towards her. "We were supposed to dance the last waltz together. I've been searching everywhere for you."

"The refreshing room." The words came out as little more than a squeak. As soon as he came within reach, Katniss clamped onto him, her knuckles turning white as she clutched his arms. "I apologize, I don't know where my dance card is."

Brown eyes grew worried. "Katniss, are you all right? Have you been hurt?"

She shook her head. People were starting to notice them, and Katniss forced herself to relax. "I would like some fresh air, please."

"Of course." He looped her arm through his, and they strolled towards the tall glass doors that separated the ballroom from the Trinkets' extensive gardens. Katniss felt eyes on them as they walked, but nobody openly watched them. The _ton_ knew better than to be too open with their curiosity.

The night air greeted them, crisp and cool. She took a long, steadying breath of it, trying to still her pounding heart.

Hawthrone did not let go of her arm until she had a firm grasp on the railing. Even then, he moved only inches away, close enough to catch her should she faint. "Are you ill?"

"No, I'm fine." It was almost true. Fresh air did wonders for nerves.

"If someone has hurt you, I promise that I will kill him." Every line of his face was hard, and Katniss had no doubt he meant every word.

"That really won't be necessary." She liked the idea, though. A dead Crane couldn't sell Britain to the French, and he certainly couldn't ruin Prim's future along with his own. But she couldn't tell such a terrible lie, especially not to a man like Hawthorne, who, despite some of his recent behavior, did seem to honestly want to help her. Being decent had its occasional disadvantages.

But perhaps Hawthorne could help her in a different way. "You don't need to hurt anyone," she began, then dropped her voice. "I need to talk to you about Mr. Crane."

"I see." He frowned and motioned for her to follow him down the stairs, further away from the party. Hawthorne settled her on a stone bench and sat down beside her. They could still be seen, which should be enough to avoid the worst gossip, but no one would overhear their conversation. "Tell me what's wrong." He kept his voice low.

She glanced over her shoulder, terrified they were being watched, and moved closer so that the softest of whispers could travel between them. "I got lost and overheard Mr. Crane and another man talking."

"You shouldn't have been eavesdropping."

"I didn't intend to," Katniss protested, but she quickly relented. "At least, not at first. I originally thought I'd managed to find my way back to the party." That didn't matter now. "But they were talking about selling something in France."

"Oh, thank goodness." The furrows in his forehead disappeared as he relaxed. "Trading with France is illegal, and I don't approve, but he's hardly the only one."

She shook her head. "This didn't sound as if it was just business. I don't know what he's selling, but he's looking for a buyer, and he threatened the man if he couldn't find him one. Hawthorne – Gale – I need to tell –"

"Shh." He rose a finger to her lips. She wanted to bite it. "You overheard a business deal, and your imagination twisted it into something more. That's all it is."

"I suppose I'm the only one who hasn't held a clandestine meeting where I've threatened my associates. Of course, I should have realized that's all common practice."

"It's not the most savory type of business, but Mr. Crane has never struck me as the most savory sort of man."

"We should at least alert someone. The War Office would want to know of any one trading with France, wouldn't they?"

He shook his head. "The War Office does not have time to investigate hearsay." Hawthorne stopped her before she could protest. "I understand your concerns. Trust me, if I had any concerns that Mr. Crane was jeopardizing Britain in any way, I would be off the War Office this instant."

"Your concern for your country is incredible."

"Katniss." When she didn't respond, Hawthorne reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Please promise me you won't do anything brash."

She chose her words carefully. "I promise not to go to the War Office with only an overheard conversation."

It seemed to be enough for Hawthorne. "Thank you." He lifted her hand up towards his lips, but stopped halfway, instead twisting it to reveal a nasty red scrape that began at her elbow and extended halfway down her forearm. "I thought you weren't hurt?"

"I fell, but I didn't notice the scrape. It doesn't hurt overmuch."

"Would you allow me to escort you inside to find someone to wrap it?"

"That would be appreciated. Thank you."

* * *

At home, Katniss styled her hair by herself. Mother might argue that a single braid did not constitute styling one's hair, but the simple hairstyle kept her hair out of the way during her other duties, and that was all that mattered. The rare occasions that Katniss allowed her mother to pin back the braid into a tidy bun were cause for celebration. Here, though, style trumped efficiency, and Mother styling her daughters' hair became part of the Everdeens' morning routine. Katniss, who for years had shunned any physical contact with her mother, had even grown to enjoy it. Having gentle fingers running through one's hair was rather a lovely sensation, and it came with the assurance that Mother would not fuss over her hair for another twenty-four hours.

This morning, though, Katniss found herself too occupied with thoughts of France and Crane to enjoy the styling. For three days, her thoughts had raced about a constant circle. War Office would not investigate on her word alone, so she had to persuade a man of Crane's guilt. But to convince him, she needed evidence of the sort that only an investigation could provide. Like a snake devouring its own tail, it circled round and round, the course never changing.

Until, at last, it did. She knew one man who would listen. Whether he would agree to see her was unfortunately an entirely different matter. Never mind that. Home and country were at stake, and more importantly, Prim's future hung in the balance. He would see her. She would make him.

"What do I have to do to make a call on Mister Mellark appropriate?" Mother's hands stilled, and Katniss looked up to meet her eyes in the mirror. "I don't believe he will agree to meet with me here, and I need to speak with him privately without any chance of being overheard. How do I go about that in a way that doesn't threaten our family's reputation?"

The brush resumed its work on her tangles. Her mother deserved credit for that: those words, coming from their daughters, would have sent many mothers of weaker constitutions into hysterics. "Am I allowed to know why you need this privacy?"

"No." Best not to involve her in this mess. Katniss wished she hadn't become involved either, but it was too late for that.

"You're not in trouble?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of."

Eileen shook her head, relieved. "You are impossible."

"And I thought I was merely incorrigible."

Her mother smiled. In moments like this, Katniss caught glimpses of the beautiful young woman her father had so often described. "You were incorrigible by the time you turned four. I think we're well into impossible by now. Hold still for just a moment." She slid the final pin into place. "Move your head about."

Katniss obliged, and when her hair didn't slip from its bun, she turned to face her mother. "What should I do?"

"I suppose you've already written him and requested that he call on you."

"Well, no, but –"

"Then why do you assume he won't agree to it?"

"I've written him twice to apologize for a, well, a misunderstanding between the two of us, and he hasn't responded to either letter." And damn him for that. True, she deserved all of it and more, but it would almost be better if he'd scolded her, replied with a letter so full of invective that she would never want to look at him again. That would give closure. Silence was awash with possibilities. "He has ample reason to be upset with me," she admitted. Katniss braced herself for a rebuke, but none came.

Instead, Eileen set aside the hairbrush and sat down on the narrow bench beside her daughter. "You ought to try again. Ask him to meet you here. It cannot make anything worse."

"But I doubt it will do anything to improve the situation." Katniss was well-suited to neither melancholy nor the color pink. Naturally, both had chosen the same day to dig their claws into her.

"I think you might be surprised what a sincere apology along with a request to discuss the matter in person might gain you." Katniss shook her head, but Mother wasn't finished. "Men aren't as complicated as they've led you to think. If you want them, they'll come. When your father was courting me, I remember we had the worst argument. My father didn't approve of him, you know that, and somehow, though we both agreed that we wanted to be together, it turned into a quarrel between us, and we didn't even look at each other for two weeks." She snorted, a noise so unladylike Katniss hardly believed her mother produced it. "We were such fools. But eventually, I did ask him to come back."

"And back he came," Katniss supplied. She wanted to run before the mist gathering in Mother's eyes turned into full-fledged tears. Somehow, that didn't seem appropriate, so she instead settled for slowly scooting toward the edge of the bench.

Mother noticed. She had a bad habit of doing that. "I'm not going to cry, you know."

"Are you sure?"

"Entirely." The mist lingered. "I loved him."

Yes, and that was exactly why Katniss refused to fall in love. In the moment, it was beautiful, but all moments end. Father passed eleven years ago, and only in the last two years had Mother began to live again. Katniss could not imagine leaving herself so vulnerable.

Mother sniffed. "I reconsider. Perhaps I am going to cry." She wiped a year away with her finger, then reached over to Katniss' knee. "Off with you, now. Fetch your stationery. I won't have you moping about while there's better things to be done."

That begged the question of what constituted a worse use of time than sulking, but for once, Katniss stopped herself. She had a letter to write, and with any luck, a guest to entertain this afternoon.

* * *

She knew his carriage immediately. It should not have been obvious, for it was unmarked, and there were hundreds of plain black carriages in London, but this was unmistakably Peeta's. Katniss raced down to the first floor to find Mary letting him in.

"Peeta." The absolute stupidest of smiles came to her face.

He beamed up at her, and she felt it from the rots of her hair to the tips of her toes. "Katniss. It's good to see you again."

"You too." Had he robbed her of her entire vocabulary?

Mary saved her. "There is tea ready in the parlor, miss."

"Thank you." She offered a hand to Peeta, and he accepted it. That small contact melted away the awkwardness between them, and she dragged as much as led him to the parlor. "I am glad you could come at such short notice."

Katniss closed the door behind them, never letting go of his hand. Mother had arranged for Prim to meet a friend for an ice, and Mary was discreet, so nobody would remark on the lack of propriety.

"So it seems our snake is venomous."

She nodded. "Please help me. I don't know what to do."

"You should find someone else." Her heart dropped. "Hawthorne's made it very clear that we're not to be together."

"He contacted you?"

Peeta nodded. "Talked to me at our club. Your new suitor doesn't much care for me."

"He may think he's my suitor." And the instant he was no longer useful, Katniss promised herself, he would be disabused of that notion.

"I admit, I was wondering if your opinion on marriage had changed."

"No, and it's not going to. I don't belong to Hawthorne." She shifted her hand to thread her fingers through his. "And I don't care what he says. Peeta, please."

He studied their entwined hands for a long moment, and slowly, hesitantly brought her hand to his lips. His eyes met hers, and Peeta paused, waiting for permission. She could feel the warmth of his breath through the thin fabric of her glove, and her breath caught when he kissed the back of her hand. Her heart raced, and his eyes on her burned with a promise of far, far more. All too soon, he moved his lips away. "You have a plan?"

It took her a moment to remember how to speak. "The beginnings of one." The words came out breathless, and he was smirking at her, and Katniss couldn't bear being at such a disadvantage. She shifted her hand in his and kissed his palm. The change in his breath, the way his lips opened in a silent _oh_ , it made her feel powerful and exhilarated all at once, and she allowed her lips to linger a hairbreadth from his skin after she broke the embrace. "It could change, though," she continued. "I'm open to suggestions."

He pushed away the haze that had settled over him. "And was that an original element?"

"Not exactly."

"Am I going to be equally as pleased with your other changes?"

Katniss pretended to consider it for a moment. "Probably not."


	9. Chapter 9

_Dearest Diary,_

_As of this afternoon, I have a drawing of myself screaming and in the act of falling off a horse. Like many great men that came before me, my greatest moment has been immortalized in art, and I have posted it over my bed so that it might inspire me in my future pursuits even as I dream. Some might consider it a low moment, but I have two arguments against this. First, as each is an individual, we must not all be judged by the same metric. Second, if I choose this as my best moment, I feel almost certain to surpass it someday._

_For emphasis, and in case my future self should read this, I did include an almost._

* * *

The first letter from Peeta arrived two days later.

_K -_

_Mrs. Carren noticed my interest and provided a list of everyone she has seen leaving C's house in the last month. She also said that a Mr. Snow might be of particular interest. He visits only at night and on no clear schedule. I saw Snow leaving yesterday evening and felt immediately suspicious of him. I do not know if there is a reason behind this suspicion and know nothing more of the man. In case Snow is not his real name, or should you encounter him, I have included a sketch._

_I cannot help but feel that Mrs. Carren could put an end to the war in a week if given the opportunity._

\- _PM_

"Who is your letter from?" Katniss pulled it in closer when Prim tried to read it over her shoulder. "Is it from Hawthorne?"

"No."

"And I know it's not Haymitch, so don't try to tell me that. Who is it? I didn't know that anyone else wrote you."

She glared at her younger sister. "Can I not read a letter in peace?"

Prim didn't bother to answer. "I wager it was Mister Mellark. You don't smile like that when you're thinking about Hawthorne."

Katniss frowned. She hadn't really been smiling, had she? No, of course not. Treason was a serious matter, and she approached the situation with the gravity it deserved.

Her sister mistook her silence for agreement. "It was, wasn't it?" She beamed. "Katniss, that's wonderful! Is he going to start calling on you again? He is so much more interesting than Hawthorne."

She really had no argument on that last point, so she chose to ignore it. "Mister Mellark is my friend." If it were only that simple. "And considering that he is only my friend and nothing more, and we see each other quite often at various functions, I doubt that he will be calling on me anytime soon." She turned back to the letter, hoping Prim would take the hint.

Instead, because Prim was a younger sister and therefore had an extra sense for exactly the action that would annoy her older sibling the most, Prim sat down next to her. Katniss responded by clutching the letter to her chest.

"You're confusing." If one were to judge from her voice alone, what prompted this statement must have been obvious to even the most casual observer. Except Katniss, who was very much an active and engaged participant in the mess her life had become, had no idea what she was talking about.

She counted fifteen heartbeats before she allowed herself to ask. "Are you planning on elaborating?"

"You don't even like Hawthorne, but you spend all your time with him." Katniss opened her mouth to argue, but Prim wasn't finished. "And then there's Mister Mellark, who you are obviously very friendly with, and yet you spend half your time pretending that he doesn't exist. You must admit that it looks a bit strange."

"Hawthorne and I enjoy each other's company very much."

Prim snorted. "I know you were stepping on his toes on purpose. Even you don't dance that poorly."

Katniss really wished she could argue with that.

"Please, Katniss, just tell me what you're thinking. Just a few weeks ago, you would have balked at even the mention of marriage. Now, the odds at Heavensbee's are that you'll be engaged within a fortnight."

"They're betting on me at Heavensbee's?"

"More on Hawthorne than you, really. He is a lord." Prim shrugged. "And you never answered my question."

"I can't believe that's acceptable." Betting on her future as though it was as inconsequential as a horse race. They ought to be ashamed of themselves, but those self-absorbed, spoiled, pompous little princes that called themselves men didn't have an ounce of shame between –

She pushed the thought away. No point in it now. She could give the participants a piece of her mind if any of them were ever foolish enough to reveal their involvement. For now, she needed to get her younger sister off her tail, a far more delicate and less satisfying task than bashing in the heads of a few supposed gentlemen. The truth, that as long as she was allied with Hawthorne, very few would dare to deny her anything, wasn't the sort of thing one could admit to her mother. "I find him tolerable."

"Tolerable," Prim repeated, her voice flat.

"Pleasant." Yes, that sounded much better. "Are we going to talk about your suitors now?" she added before Prim could press the matter further.

Prim's eyes, usually so warm and inviting, went stony, and the temperature in the room dropped to below freezing. "I think we are both aware of your thoughts on that matter."

"And now that I know your thoughts on Hawthorne and Mister Mellark, I will consider the matter settled." Katniss picked up her letter again, sure to hold it close enough to her face that Prim could not read it over her shoulder. The letters blurred together at this distance, and she could already feel the first swellings of a headache at the front of her skull, but this wasn't about reading. A point needed to be made here, and make it she would.

Instead of accepting defeat the way any reasonable woman would, Prim simply leaned forward to look at the back of the paper. "Oh."

Katniss frowned.

"That's incredible." Prim's eyes never left the sheet. "Did Mister Mellark draw that?"

Confused, she flipped over the sheet. In an instant, she knew the man before her. Not personally, for while Katniss thought him familiar, she felt certain they had never been introduced, but she knew him. His intelligence, how his cruelty lurked beneath a mask of smiles and kindness, all of it laid bare before her. She had seen technically excellent drawings, and this was not one of them. Snow's sparse white hair curled in a way she had never seen in nature, and his lips had an unnatural fullness. But despite its flaws, she had rarely felt such an immediate connection to a drawing. With just a few strokes of his pencil – or charcoal, for though she ought to, she wouldn't know the difference – Peeta conveyed the entirety of a man.

"Who is he?"

"Hmm?" Katniss' eyes did not leave Snow's.

"The man Mister Mellark drew. Who is he?" Prim prompted. "He seems very real."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose he does. Perhaps he is real. Maybe not. I don't know."

Prim rose an eyebrow. "He might have mentioned him in the letter."

"No." That came out too quickly, but now she was committed. "I think he must have not noticed that there was a sketch on the back of the paper when he started writing. I'm sure it's all a mistake."

"A pleasant one, though."

"True." She folded the letter and stood. "I forgot something upstairs."

"Of course you did." No seventeen-year-old should be able to sound so patronizing. "Do let me know if you find out who the man in the drawing is. I'm very curious."

Katniss managed a nod and a smile. Not a convincing smile, but a smile.

Once upstairs, she made sure to seat herself facing the door so that should Prim ever-so-innocently happen to come in, her sister would not see what she was doing. As neatly as she could, she copied down the list of Cranes visitors. Some of the names were familiar. Plutarch Heavensbee owned the gentlemen's club that Crane frequented. Her father had once employed James Cray, a solicitor, and reviewing the Everdeens' accounts following Father's death, Katniss felt sure the man had been siphoning off money for his own use from the day he'd been hired. She would not warn Crane about the man. The snake deserved whatever Cray took and more. Others she had never heard of. Katniss would have to find out what she could about them. Mother paid better attention to these matters than her. Perhaps she could help. Prim might know even more, for she and Crane had to talk about _something_ during all that time they spent together, but Katniss would keep that as a last resort. She had no urge to repeat her walk in the rain.

With her list complete, she had no excuse to keep Peeta's letter any longer. Prim would surely go through her things at some point, and while a list was ubiquitous enough that she could safely leave it with her stack of Peeta's calling cards, Katniss doubted her sister would respect her wishes and not read the letter. She spent a long moment gazing at the sketch before she shut her eyes and tore the paper in half. The second rip came easier, and the one after that hardly hurt at all. She would put the scraps in the fireplace later today. For now, she had a letter to write.

_P –_

_Thank you for your letter. Your work is greatly appreciated. I agree that this Mr. Snow is of great interest. I believe I have seen him before, and I will find what I can about him and C's other associates. Your drawing was incredible. It held a great deal of personality. My sister Primrose extends her compliments as well._

_I am glad that you value your country so much over your personal comfort. It would be terrible if you had to give up your cheese buns for Britain._

\- _KE_

* * *

"There's no need to limit oneself to a three-dimensional Cartesian space, even it is what we can easily see and understand. The same mathematics works on a much grander scale. Using the same algorithm, we can reduce any set of vectors down to a basis which we can then use to uniquely characterize any vector within the space." Katniss might have found the lecture interesting if she had not spent the last quarter of an hour hearing the two and three-dimensional cases described in detail or had more than a vague idea of what precisely constituted a vector. Or if she had requested a lecture. Or if she felt like her input was welcome in any way and Hawthorne was not just using her as a convenient excuse to hear himself talk.

She dared a glance out the window. The clear sky beckoned, the warm sun cloying and so very tempting, everything begging her to leave Hawthorne behind and join them out of doors, but she was trapped with half a cup of room-temperature tea and the human equivalent of the dry mathematics texts she read only in her nightmares. At least Mother had her embroidery to distract her. Katniss took a gulp of tea and wrinkled her nose. Awful.

"I am sorry to interrupt –"Lies told for the common good were perfectly excusable "- would you like another cup, Gale?" Theirs was well past the point of being fit for human consumption, but she needed him to be quiet for a moment.

He looked down at his cup as though he had forgotten its existence. Which, she supposed, he very well might have. Hawthorne did have a rather amazing ability to focus on a single subject at the cost of everything else. The man was destined for eccentricity. Katniss did not doubt that for a second. But his confusion passed quickly. "Yes, please. Thank you."

She took the cup and refilled it, reveling in the moment of silence the action provided. Katniss hated to spoil it, but she had to take her opportunities when they presented themselves. "Do you know a Mr. Snow?" It sounded forced. At some point, she would have to perfect the art of the offhand mention. Then again, once this nasty business was over with and she returned to the Seam, she doubted she would ever have any need for it.

"The name is familiar." Gale frowned as he took a sip. He was too polite to mention that the tea had long since gone cold. Thank goodness, for she didn't trust herself to apologize nicely when he was the one who had droned on for ages, drawing out this teatime far longer than she had anticipated. "But I couldn't match it to a face. Where did you meet him?"

"Oh, I haven't," she added much too quickly. Yes, she definitely needed to practice her false small talk. Her conversation skills in general could use some brushing up, if she was being honest with herself. Because she couldn't resist the urge to dig an even deeper grave for herself, Katniss continued, "I recall someone mentioning him a few days ago, is all. I thought it might have been you."

"I'm sure it wasn't." Another sip of the tea. Either he had already forgotten how vile the stuff was or Hawthorne had a masochistic streak in him that she never would have suspected. In either case, Katniss was about to thank God and all of his angels for their mercy when he spoke again. "This doesn't have anything to do with Crane, does it?"

For once, she remained quiet. Her own tea was starting to look rather inviting. Mother looked up from her embroidery and met Katniss' eyes, and she blushed.

Hawthorne noticed the exchange. "I told you to forget about it. Crane is not the first man to do business with the French, and I doubt he'll be the last."

"I can't just forget about this! He's committing treason!"

Mother was pointedly not looking at them. Not for the first time, Katniss envied her. She would give almost anything to not be embroiled in this right now.

Hawthorne frowned. "I did not say I approved of his actions."

"And I never said you did."

He spoke over her. "What I did say is that his personal business transactions are none of your concern. Let it be, Katniss."

She was losing him. Had probably already lost him, but maybe there was still some hope left. "Gale." Katniss put a hand on his arm. "He's courting Prim." Now he was at least looking at her. "Surely you understand as well as anyone. Imagine if it were Posy. Could you sit by and allow someone you had concerns about to pursue your sister?"

He flinched. "Gale, please."

She saw the exact moment he changed his mind. Hawthorne ran his fingers through his hair. "She will not listen to your advice?"

Katniss shook her head.

Ever the logical sort, he proceeded in the next obvious direction. "And hearing the same advice from me would have no effect as well, I presume."

"No." Katniss remembered what had happened when she had offered Prim her opinions on Mister Crane. She wouldn't wish her mud-soaked, rage-fueled walk through a London thunderstorm on anyone. Well, almost anyone. She preferred to keep all options available for those days she was feeling less than generous towards the rest of humanity.

"Difficult like her sister, then." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I could speak with him, if it would reassure you."

It was a small step, and she rather doubted that Crane would admit any wrongdoing to Gale, but it was a step. The first step made the second easier, which, made the third easier, and like Gale's vector bases, if one took enough of those steps, they could explain anything.

At least, that was how Katniss understood it. She had never been very good at maths.

* * *

The letters flowed in over the next three days. As soon as Peeta's letter was safely destroyed, Katniss had begun drafting requests to her father's old business associates, each with questions about one or two of the names on her list. The first replies had arrived the next day, and her list morphed into a chart as she filled in information about Crane's associates. One or two letters had come each day since.

Today, she had a treasure trove of six. She sifted through them quickly. One came from Haymitch. As much as she didn't like putting off anything to do with the Seam, it was the only one she could reply to with Prim in the room, so she left it for later. Mother and Prim had said they would be gone most of the afternoon, but one could never be certain with those two. A pleasant spark went through her when she saw Peeta's beautifully scrolling handwriting on the second letter. She set that one aside as well, a treat for later. The rest, she went through, carefully noting everything on her chart, which was now growing quite crowded. She would have to make a new list after reading Peeta's letter.

Katniss grinned as she tore open the final letter. Her eyes only grazed the list of names at the top, instead settling on Peeta's note below.

_K –_

_I'm glad you enjoyed my drawing. I hope you appreciate this one as well._

_Thankfully, it's my brother's cook that makes the cheese buns. I am not sure what I would do if faced with the choice of losing either Britain the bait for my Everdeen traps._

\- _PM_

She was going to kill him. It didn't matter that the information Peeta gave her was incredibly useful, or that his letters were a bright spot in the tedium of her days, or that his smiles were surely made of sunshine. She had never made that face and she was going to murder him. Katniss wouldn't hang for it, either, for the jury would surely find her actions justified. How had he thought it appropriate to send her an image of herself desperately hanging onto Daring and screaming for dear life? Never mind that she had escaped the incident without harm. He had turned it into a comedy, with her hair blowing out in a giant cloud around her as she wailed and her toes practically grazing the ground. And Daring, the monster she was, had gone from demon to unimpressed pony that gazed up as though asking God to relieve her of her terrible burden.

Daring's face might have prompted a giggle. Not a very big one, though. It certainly wouldn't be enough to save her master.

She stuffed the letter beneath her leg when Prim tore the door open. "Katniss, I can't believe it! How could you?"

"Pardon?"

Tears ran down her sister's cheeks, but her eyes burned with anger. "You told him to, didn't you? You set him on this bloody inquisition."

"Primrose, language." Mother looked far more calm about the matter. Katniss tried to meet her mother's eyes, hoping she could tell her what had made Prim so upset, but Eileen shook her head. "No, I won't be involved in this. The two of you need to discuss it between yourselves."

Prim's nostrils flared at that, but she did take a deep breath before speaking again. "You're the one who sent Hawthorne to talk to Seneca." Katniss didn't like that he was Seneca now instead of Mr. Crane, but she didn't comment on that. Prim was already angry enough. "You don't trust him. Moreover, you don't trust me to make my own decisions. Why must you always judge him so harshly? He's done nothing to deserve the way you treat him."

She thought Crane deserved rather more than she had given him, but Katniss knew better than to say that out loud. "I merely thought that Mister Crane and Hawthorne should become better acquainted. It does seem that they might be spending quite a bit of time together in the future."

"That's not why you did it. You don't trust him."

"I trust very few people." Katniss silently begged her mother to step in, but Eileen instead left the room, shutting the door behind her. She was trapped.

Prim didn't acknowledge their mother's departure. "But regardless of your personal feelings towards him, you should trust me. I trust Seneca, and I love him, and I want him to love me in return. And instead of letting me handle my own matters, you decided to send Hawthorne after him. You do realize that he now thinks I'm suspicious of him, don't you?"

"I do apologize for that." She spoke slowly and chose her words with the utmost care. "I didn't realize it would put you in such an uncomfortable situation." Katniss thought she had done an admirable job of staying calm throughout this exchange, but her patience was wearing thin. If Prim did not stop soon, there would be two shouting Everdeen sisters, and no city could prepare for that.

Thankfully, her words seemed to mollify Prim somewhat. "I apologize as well. I shouldn't have shouted." Her sister sighed and dug something from her sleeve pocket. "Here, he wanted me to give you this." Prim handed her a folded piece of paper, and Katniss accepted it. "Said he found it on the floor of the ballroom and kept forgetting to return it when he saw us. I told him it was no matter, that you don't keep your dance cards the way I sometimes do, but he insisted that I give it to you."

"That was very kind of him." After that, Katniss tuned out Prim's chatter. She really had no interest in near word-for-word retellings of Crane's conversations – unless of course they related to France or could land the man in prison. Those, she found very interesting indeed. She looked down at the paper, unfolding it.

The Trinket ball. It was her dance card from the Trinket ball. Katniss' breath caught. He knew. He had to know.

Prim did not notice her discomfort. "Seneca never speaks ill of you, you know. I think he rather admires your reluctance about him. He said he was glad to see a sister so protective of her younger sister. Rather admirable of him, wasn't it?"

She obviously expected a reply, but Katniss did not trust herself to speak.

Prim frowned, but she pressed forward all the same. "Well, he's certain he can clear up any misunderstandings as the two of you become better acquainted, and he is throwing a dinner for us next week for just that reason."

Katniss' heart stopped. "Dinner?" she asked weakly. "I'm not sure I can –"

"Mother's already accepted the invitation for all of us."

She felt acid burning at the back of her throat, and she closed her eyes, wishing it all away. A clever spider hardly moved from his place in the center of the web, allowing the fly to trap itself before wandering over to enjoy its feast.

But the scene playing on the back of her eyelids was not one of a spider biting down a Katniss-shaped fly. She had wanted from the beginning to go through Crane's office. Peeta had convinced her it should be their last resort, that they should learn as much they could through less dangerous channels before attempting anything so risky. That had been before. Now, they were in far greater peril.

"Katniss, are you all right?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Do you think you could ask Mister Crane to invite Peeta?" She saw the confusion in her sister's eyes. "To the dinner party. Peeta lives a few houses away from Mister Crane. I think it would be very neighborly to invite him."

Her sister smiled. "You want him invited because it would be neighborly. You're certain you've no other reasons?"

Katniss scrambled for an excuse. "Oh, erm, I-"

"Of course I'll ask." Prim winked. "In the spirit of being a good neighbor."


	10. Chapter 10

_Dearest Diary,_

_After tonight's events, I fear that dinner parties shall forever leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth. That is the exact opposite of their usual intent makes it an even greater tragedy._

* * *

The air stood stagnant over the city, warm and wet, but that did not stop the chill that went down Katniss' spine as she stepped out of the carriage and onto the drive before Crane's townhouse. Much as she wished to, she could not attribute her reaction to the house itself. While it had seemed as much a monster as the man who resided there on her first visit, in the daylight, it took on a far softer air. From the street, it appeared much like the other houses on the street, unusual in neither size nor design. Its tasteful, uniform marble façade had none of the collage of character seen in so many of the older, wealthier family townhouses that had been built, rebuilt, and added on to for centuries, The grounds, though not extensive, were neatly kept, and the entire picture was one of an easy, if bland, sort of elegance.

But as she drew closer, the house seemed to loom over her. The front entrance, formerly so unremarkable, became a mouth, foreboding yet darkly tempting, urging her inside with the cold delight of a predator already certain its prey is within its grasp. The smiling face and pleasant features of the footman that greeted the Everdeens at the door could not dispel the feeling that she had just entered the belly of the beast. Katniss wondered if Jonah had realized how fortunate he truly was. She had never been one to pay perfect attention during Sunday sermon, but she distinctly remembered that the prophet had been cast off his vessel, literally thrown into the water and the waiting jaws of the whale. Katniss, in contrast, had to walk in of her own accord, fully aware of the dangers that could await her inside.

The footman ushered them into a parlor, where they would mingle with the other guests before dinner. If any of Crane's other guests were as uneasy as her, they did not show it. They dressed in the lightest clothing they owned out of deference to the heat, but made no other indication that the evening was anything but the gayest of parties as they laughed and talked together, bright and bubbly as champagne. Prim had told her there would be sixteen guests at tonight's gathering, and Katniss counted nine already present. Hawthorne stood perhaps twenty feet away, conversing with a portly older man. She snorted, earning herself a poke in the ribs from Mother, when Hawthorne's attempts to extricate himself from the conversation were met with the other man physically placing himself between Gale and his escape route. The worst parts of Katniss hoped that Hawthorne was being regaled with mathematical theorems he had no hope of understanding.

On her second inspection of the crowd, she found that the guest she most hoped to see had not yet arrived. Perhaps she should have expected that. Peeta Mellark possessed many fine qualities, but punctuality was not among them.

She studied the other guests as she waited for him to arrive. Katniss suspected that she had met nearly everyone here at one point or another, but she felt no great urge to reacquaint herself with any of them. The company one kept, after all, spoke volumes about one's character.

She was saved the strain of actually conversing with anyone else by Prim. The younger, prettier Miss Everdeen's engagement to Mr. Crane was a foregone conclusion by this point, and everyone wanted to know more about the enchanting thing that had managed to capture his heart. The very concept brought on a wave of nausea. Still, it provided her with an excellent opportunity to observe the other guests. She hung back, silently watching them as they approached Prim one by one.

As if by some unspoken agreement, they all followed the same script. _Good day, isn't this weather dreadful, I do hope you'll come for tea._ If Prim and Mother accepted another invitation, she would have to mutiny. No one should be subjected to that many visits. By guest number three, she had given up on finding anything. This would really be far more interesting if they could stop being so disarmingly average. Where were the moustache-twirling villains with evil glints in their eyes that she remembered so well from bedtime stories?

Never mind. With Crane at the opposite side of the room, the fairy tale villains were well accounted for.

A familiar figure following the footman into the chamber, and Katniss felt a now-familiar rush of warmth. Perhaps, she mused, she had found the hero of the story as well.

"Miss Everdeen. What a surprise seeing you here tonight."

Ah yes, the incredible surprise of something they had discussed for weeks. However could he cope? "I hope it's a good one."

"The best type, I assure you." His blue eyes sparkled as he took her hand and squeezed it. "It's been too long."

If she were the blushing sort - and despite her behavior over the past few weeks, Katniss was certain she did not qualify - she would have been red as beets at that. "I agree." It had. There had been letters over the past few weeks, yes, and she swore that they carried as much meaning between the lines as in the words themselves, but they were only a shadow of what it felt to stand next to him, to talk with him, to see his reactions as she spoke rather than relying on her imagination to conjure up his smiles. "I hope that it will not be nearly as long in the future."

"He's watching us, you know." Peeta's voice was low, soft, and she doubted the other guests could hear him.

"Which he?"

He laughed. "Both."

"Fascinating." She pursed her lips in annoyance. "Who would think I'd inspire jealousy?"

"On that point, I believe you're underestimating yourself. If I were courting anyone so lovely, I'm not sure I could stand to share either."

_Lovely_. She would never tire of hearing him say that word, but his point could not be allowed to stand unchallenged. "And do you think of this as being shared?"

The skin around his eyes always crinkled just before he told a joke. She wondered when she had first noticed that. "Perhaps I would like to think you're being unfaithful."

She chuckled. "You're impossible."

"You wouldn't like me nearly as much if I wasn't."

The call for dinner interrupted any response she might have had. She slipped her arm through his before he could offer to escort her. His lips quirked up, and he nodded towards Hawthorne. "Are you going to be in trouble?"

"Aren't I always?"

"Excellent point." He escorted her to her seat, then sat across from her. "I like the view from this spot."

If Hawthorne had waited another second to sit down next to her, Katniss was certain she could have found something to say back to that.

* * *

Crane's smile could have frozen over the Atlantic. "I'm glad you decided to come tonight."

_Decided_ was an interesting choice of verb. It suggested she'd had a choice in the matter. "Thank you for inviting me." She hoped that he would turn his attention elsewhere. Katniss had managed to escape their host's notice for the entire first course, but as soon as Peeta excused himself, ostensibly to use the facilities, she had found herself the main subject of Crane's interest.

"You might say you're our guest of honor, Miss Everdeen. Primrose told me you had expressed some concerns about our courtship, and I of course could not allow any misunderstandings between the two of us to stand. I would hate to come between two loving sisters for any reason." Speaking with him felt like a circus act she had once seen years ago. While the knife-throwers' blades never struck her husband, they always came within a hairbreadth of his skin, pinning him by his clothes to the board behind them, leaving him restrained and entirely at her mercy by the end of the act. She had no idea how Prim could so happily spend an afternoon with this man, much less the rest of her life.

She could not let her discomfort show. "I am grateful for the opportunity for us to become better acquainted."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Everdeen. Beef?"

She wanted no part in anything at the table, but it would be rude to refuse. "Yes, please." As was the fashion, the meat was served very rare, and it almost seemed to bleed as Crane carved a hearty slice for her.

Though she longed to look away for the sake of both her stomach and her nerves, her gaze fastened on the plate before her and the red fluid seeping from her food. Katniss flinched when something brushed her hand under the table. She saw hurt flicker through Hawthorne's eyes. _Sorry_ , she mouthed, and reached for his hand, letting their fingers entwine. His grip was warm and steady, but she found little comfort in it. If only she could trust the wine. She would like nothing more than to dull her concerns with alcohol, but it would have been so simple for Crane to order poison slipped into her glass, and Katniss had no doubts he would stoop to such a level. If a man could sell his country for his own personal profit, he certainly would have no qualms about silencing anyone might know his secret.

Some of her worry dissipated as Peeta again took his seat. He met her eyes for a brief second and shook his head. Katniss frowned. The door to the study was locked. They had to find another way in.

She pondered the problem over her duck breast, the only dish on her plate to have escaped being drowned by the beef. The sauce was rather salty. What a shame about the wine.

A breeze, the first she had felt all evening, made everything fall into place.

It didn't take more than a minute for Peeta to feel her eyes on him. _Outside_ , she mouthed, and he nodded.

No reason to wait any longer. "Excuse me for a moment," she said to Hawthorne, and ducked out of the room.

* * *

It took Peeta a few minutes to join her underneath the oak tree.

She spoke before he could. "You think this is a bad idea."

"I know it's a bad idea," he argued. "None of the other doors were locked, Katniss. Crane knows you've discovered him."

"That just proves his guilt!" Could he not see that an innocent man would have nothing to hide? "If we get in there, we can find the evidence we need. I can feel it."

"And how are you planning on getting up there? It's locked, and Crane's probably carrying the key on his person. That's what I would do in his situation." She looked up, tracing the contours of the enormous tree with her eyes, and he followed her gaze. "Oh no."

"Second window on the right."

"That's…"

"Perfect," she finished for him. Katniss kicked off her slippers and handed them to him. The delicate shoes wouldn't last through her climbing the tree anyway. "You keep watch. Two whistles means come down right away. Three means hide in the room. If I'm gone more than ten minutes, go back to the party. I'll find my way eventually." The bark was rough against her feet and hands as she began her climb. Katniss allowed herself a grim smile. It had been too long since she'd been allowed to climb a tree.

She heard Peeta grunt below her, and she glanced down to find him following her up the tree. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"I can't help you from down here."

"Who's going to keep watch?"

He pushed a piece of blond hair out of his eyes. "Katniss, we aren't going to get caught by someone on the ground. No one else is going to think to climb the tree."

Why must he be so logical? "But you think it's a bad idea!"

"It's important to you." That wasn't a counterpoint, just a statement, and it left her feeling like the tree had given out underneath her – in a good way. She didn't have time to think about whether or not it was really possible to fall on one's bottom in a positive sense, and Katniss suspected she wouldn't like the conclusion if she did. "Come on, hurry up. If someone needs some air and finds us in the tree, then we will be in trouble."

She scurried the rest of the way up in seconds. The branch at the window swayed threateningly under her weight, but it held, and she slipped soundlessly into the study. On the surface, it was little different from a thousand other studies sprinkled across London. All the elements that society men so valued were present: polished dark wood, high-backed chairs, the heavy, imposing desk that she had always assumed was meant to convince the man who sat there that he was indeed as important as others believed. But unlike those other studies, Crane's harbored secrets that could topple Britain – or, if she was lucky, Crane himself. All that she had to do was unearth them.

Peeta grunted as he hoisted himself over the sill, and he fell into the room with a resounding _crash_. Katniss went stone-still, barely daring to breathe as she waited for them to be discovered. But a moment later, the house was still quiet. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

"Yes." Peeta rubbed his shoulder as he rose to his feet. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Katniss admitted. "Something off. If there's anything, it'll be in here." God, please let her be right. They would not get another chance at this. "I'll start with the account books. You watch the door."

Peeta was already rifling through the desk, searching for anything out of place. She turned to the account books, pulling the most recent from its spot on the cramped bookshelf. Katniss had been managing her family's finances since she was twelve, but still the sea of numbers overwhelmed her. Thousands of pounds flowed in and out of Crane's pockets like water between one's fingers. Surely it would mean nothing to many families of the ton, but how could one person possess such wealth?

She couldn't allow his enormous wealth to distract her. Katniss picked a line to start with. Servants wages. Very well, she could hardly expect to find something incriminating on the very first line. Even the worst sorts of men had to pay their servants. She moved faster and faster as she read on. Most of the items listed were innocent enough. Rents collected from his estate outside Bristol, household expenses, gambling debts that were quickly settled and erased from memory in time for him to return to the tables the next night. Together, they told a story of a wealthy man who could well afford his extravagant lifestyle.

She thumbed through almost a year's worth of expenses before she noticed the tick marks. At first, she didn't think much of them. This one highlighted the winnings from a night at Heavensbee's three months ago. Another marked tenants' rents that had been collected after the harvest – which, she noticed, were nearly two thousand pounds more than they had been the year before. Her eyebrows rose, and she searched for more. She found almost thirty over the past two years, usually clustered with four or five in one month. All involved huge sums, far larger than his usual rents, and on further comparison, the amounts he had supposedly won at Heavensbee's were magnitudes larger than what he had wagered and lost on any other night. These had to be payments from his business with France. What else could they be?

A sound startled her, and she didn't realize it was her gasping until she saw Peeta staring at her.

"Found something?" he asked.

"Perhaps." She looked back at the book and shook her head. "But I don't think it will be enough to convince anyone else." But the more she stared at the page, the more questions she had. She had seen Crane's letters to Prim, and the accounts were detailed in the same tall, neat hand. Why not trust his books with a secretary? She doubted most men of Crane's means managed all of their expenses themselves.

"Take it. We have enough."

Could she take the whole book without it being immediately noticed? Katniss had nowhere to hide anything large, so probably not, but a few pages should be enough. Four pages, two with tally marks and two that showed Crane's real incomes. If she could find that, it could -

Footsteps.

Katniss' eyes widened, and she blindly ripped a handful of pages from the book and shoved it back into its spot. She heard Peeta shutting desk drawers. Katniss stuffed the papers down the front of her dress as she hurried for the window, but Peeta stood in her way. "What are you doing?" she hissed as he took hold of her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Katniss," he whispered, cupping her face with one hand, and an instant later, his mouth was on hers.

Her mind went blank. There was no room for thought between them, not when he was pulling her close, not when her fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him firmly in place. Hot red frissons of energy jumped from where their lips met, where his hand pressed against her lower back, where his thumb traced along her jaw, warm and feather-light. She was vaguely aware of being moved backwards, of something hard pressing into her back, but it was as if it was happening to someone else. He thumb nudged at her chin, and she opened her mouth, slanting their lips together again and again as his warm breath comingled with hers. Katniss' hand pressed against his chest, not pushing him away, just marveling at the pounding of his heart against her palm.

And that was when she heard the door open. "Katniss!" Hawthorne shouted.

Her heart stopped beating as Peeta pulled away, tucking her behind him as he whirled towards the door. "Mellark, I'm going to kill –"

"No!" She emerged from behind Peeta, putting herself between the two men before Hawthorne could do anything regrettable. There had already been quite enough of that this evening. "Stop, don't hurt him. I asked him to."

"We can talk about _your_ behavior later. Now, I –"

"Back, Hawthorne." Crane's dark eyes glimmered as he studied the two of them. "I believe the lady has made her choice." He gave her a small, threatening smile. "And what an interesting choice at that."

Her flaming face required no acting.

"I am sure we can find a cheroot somewhere else." There was an affability in his voice that spoke directly against the murder in his eyes. "I assume that Mister Mellark and Miss Everdeen will want a moment to fix themselves up before they return to the party. I expect you _very_ soon." The threat in his words hung over the room long after he left, guiding a red-faced Lord Hawthorne down the hallway.

"How could you?" she hissed.

"Katniss –" Peeta began, but she would have none of it.

"You kissed me!"

"I am sorry for that."

"You didn't have to follow me. You could have –" he cut her off with another kiss, just a peck against her lips. "You, I – "

"I'm not sorry for that one, though, and neither are you." Peeta smoothed back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her updo, brushing his fingers against her cheek as he tucked it back behind her ear. Such a touch shouldn't have been able to steal the words from her mouth. How had he gained such power over her? "I'm not sure how much I can help with your hair," he murmured.

"I don't want your help with that."

"And if you don't want help with _that_ ," he added, glancing down at her bosom, a wicked smile creeping across his handsome features, "I'm going to assume you want to rearrange your papers yourself."

"Go away."

"As you wish." He paused at the door. "Katniss. We will talk about this tomorrow."

"No."

"I'll fetch your slippers from outside. We'll see if they fit tomorrow, Cinderella."


	11. Chapter 11

_Dearest Diary,_

_Two events of note occurred today. First, I realized that Peeta Mellark, who just yesterday I considered an ally, and far more importantly, a close friend, is an irredeemable prat. Second, I became betrothed to him._

* * *

Were it not for the nightmares, Katniss would have thought she laid awake the entire night. She lost count of how many times she kicked her blankets away only to retrieve them minutes later, the cool air having failed to lull her to sleep. She wanted to get up and look over the ledger sheets again, but with Prim in the room with her, even asleep, Katniss didn't dare risk it. Her younger sister's even breathing seemed deafening as she watched shadows crawl across the ceiling, sharp and claw-like. The weight of the knife in her hand was comforting, a physical reminder that she was here, that the events were not just a dream.

On second thought, she had no idea why she found that comforting. Her mind could conjure some odd scenarios, but if she could slip away into one of them right now, Katniss would happily agree to it. Maybe she could. She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured the Seam. In this dream, she was sitting next to the fire at home, her boots and coat laid out beside her, waiting for the flames to chase away the chill after a morning trek to the village, and -

Someone was at her window. Katniss bolted upright, knife ready, ears keened. Nothing. She slipped from her bed and moved towards the window. She of anybody ought to know that they offered no real safety, but the tiny garden of the Everdeen home left no room for trees, and any intruder would have to scale thirty feet straight up to reach their window. Not that she put it past Crane to slither up the stone wall like a lizard, but it did seem unlikely.

And thankfully, a thorough inspection yielded no evidence of any more spider-like tendencies. She checked that the window was securely locked before returning to her bed. That lasted for all of thirty seconds before Katniss decided she ought to have a look around the rest of the house. One could never be too careful, after all. In her bare feet, she was silent as a shadow as she moved from room to room, eyes carefully searching for even the smallest details out of pace. As it turned out, there were rather a lot of them. The Everdeens had never been a tidy lot, and Katniss found many pieces of half-finished embroidery, newspapers, and letters sitting about. Most of the newspapers and letters were hers, but small-minded as it was, she took some pride in that the embroidery must belong to Prim or Mother. None of hers laid half-finished, as it had barely been started.

"Katniss."

She almost screamed. Thankfully, Katniss managed to save herself that embarrassment. Perhaps she could make a habit of it. "Mother?" she whispered. In the silent household, it sounded deafening.

"Go to bed."

She held her knife behind her back as she started back towards the staircase. Katniss had no desire to answer the questions wandering about with a knife at two in the morning would prompt. "I can't sleep."

Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. In her nightgown and with graying blonde hair hanging in a long braid over one shoulder, Eileen shone more brightly than Katniss could after hours of primping. The effect was only heightened when she gave her daughter a soft smile. "Try to rest. You have a busy day before you tomorrow."

"I'm not going to marry him."

"Don't forget your promise to me."

"I haven't. I'm still not going to marry him." She could find another solution if she had to. There were only a few weeks left in the season. Katniss could weather any scandal for a few weeks, and with a bit of penny-pinching, she should be able to afford Prim another season. The gossips would have something better to talk about by next year. Magpies' fascinations never lasted long.

She did not want to, but Katniss started up the stairs anyway. If they were going to argue, they might as well keep it to just one subject. From here, Katniss had a far better view of the disappointment in her mother's eyes. Perhaps she could still flee back downstairs.

Eileen's eyes flicked down. "Give me the knife." Katniss hesitated, but Mother held out her hand, she handed it over. Eileen studied it for several seconds. "I thought Haymitch would have given you a bigger one."

"I can more easily hide this one in my sleeve."

"Ah. That explains it." She turned the knife over in her hand. "Go back to bed. I'll give it back when I'm certain you aren't going to run off."

The idea of running away hadn't occurred to her, but it was a tantalizing possibility. If she left tonight, she could secure a spot on a mail coach and be miles out of the city before dawn. Haymitch had mentioned in his last letter that he needed another set of hands to keep the Seam from rotting to pieces beneath him. Katniss could spare her family the expense of another worker if she was there to help him, and in any case, what worker could care as much for her home as she did? No day laborer could have the commitment she had to her ancestral home, and it would surely show in the quality of their work. If she was going to have to redo half their work anyway, why not save herself the effort and expense and do it herself?

No, tempting as it was, she couldn't do that to Prim and Mother. "I would never."

"And you're downstairs in the dark because…?"

"If I wanted to run away, I would be halfway there already."

Eileen smiled and shook her head. "Go to bed. You'll wake up Mary if you keep up your wandering, and I don't want to hear her complaints tomorrow." When Katniss reached the last step, Eileen reached out a hand to stroke her braid. "You know, I think this will be good for both of you."

"Is there a saying about faith in lost causes? There ought to be."

* * *

"You're early." Mother frowned at Katniss' words, and a jab at her ribs demanded a proper greeting. Katniss did not so much as wince. Some wars could be won with smiles and sweet subterfuge; others required simple brute force. Katniss could not claim to now which category her current situation belonged to, but now that she had chosen her strategy, there was no going back.

Peeta pretended not to notice. "I thought you might be the sort to rise early. Thankfully, I was right."

"I certainly wouldn't be coming down to greet you in my nightgown."

He winked. Bloody  _winked_ at her, like this was all a game to him. And perhaps it was. She wouldn't put it past him to have set up the scene in Crane's study. Yes, she had been the one who suggested going up there in the first place, but if he hadn't insisted on following her, they never would have been caught.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but Peeta only turned to her mother and smiled. "Good morning, Mrs. Everdeen. I apologize if I've interrupted breakfast."

Luckily for Peeta, the Everdeens rose much earlier than most fashionable Londoners, and had finished breakfast well over an hour ago. If he had interrupted, Katniss would have murdered him on the spot. The man had already ruined dinner parties for her, and she suspected he was about to destroy the charm of the Everdeens' sunny yellow parlor. She was not going to let him do the same to breakfast. Nobody deserved that kind of punishment.

Mother, not surprisingly had a more charitable view. "Your company is an addition to any meal, not an interruption."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Everdeen. Thank you."

"I imagine you and Katniss have a great deal to discuss."

"We do." He looked to her, searching for confirmation, but Katniss remained silent. "Could we please speak alone for a moment?"

"Of course." Mother disappeared, making a show of closing the parlor door behind her.

"I guarantee that she is listening in." Katniss could perfectly picture Mother's scowl at that, but, to her credit, Eileen stayed silent. In her place, Prim would have argued.

"Then you'll have to be on your best behavior." She glared at Peeta, but it had no effect. "I think your mother would forgive me almost anything as long as I have convinced you to marry me before I leave."

"Then I'm afraid you'll be in rather a lot of trouble."

"Katniss." She wished she could hate his voice. He had no right to sound so reasonable right now. "You know this has to happen eventually."

"No, I don't." Katniss crossed her arms over her chest, childish in the extreme, and collapsed down onto the narrow sofa. The cushions bounced back beneath her, groaning at the abuse. Peeta joined her, sitting close enough his weight pinned the green fabric of her day dress to the cushions.

"You really thought we would make it through this without being caught?"

She had never given much thought to it, actually. When Prim's safety was at stake - and more than ever, Katniss felt convinced that it had been from the very start - nothing else mattered. Like a horse with blinders, her peripheral vision disappeared, and all that existed was the threat that she had to eliminate. And Peeta, unfortunately. She had never quite managed to rid him from her thoughts. "And when did you realize this was unavoidable?"

"I wouldn't call it unavoidable. Destined, perhaps, but not unavoidable. As for when I knew…" He mulled that over for several seconds, which surprised her. The man almost always had a glib reply waiting at the tip of his tongue. "I think I knew when you came to my house."

"That long ago?"

"It was after I asked you to marry me." He winced. "The first time."

"As I recall, there wasn't much asking involved. It was more of a statement."

"I think I owe you at least a dozen more apologies for that."

"Yes." He should know better than to think she would disagree on that point.

Peeta straightened and smiled. "So I must be allowed to see you at least a dozen more times. I can't allow such an affront to stand."

"I'm not marrying you."

"I think you are."

Her eyes narrowed. "And you're going to convince me?"

"I don't need to do much convincing. We both know you'll do it for Prim's sake."

If he wanted a fight, he had found it. "And you think it will do my sister so much good to have you in our family?"

"More good than a sister in the gossip papers!" She jerked back at the anger in his voice.

Sagging down in his seat, Peeta took a deep, ragged breath and dragged a hand slowly down his face. "I'm sorry. There was no need to shout." Still resting his elbows on his knees, he looked up at her, and for the first time, she noticed the bags beneath his eyes. It seemed she was not the only one who had suffered a restless night.

Hesitantly, Katniss reached out to him, covering his hand with hers. He turned his palm up and wrapped their fingers together. "What do you want from me, Katniss? Please tell me, because it feels as if the second I understand, you do something that makes me question it."

Possibilities flooded her mind.  _Let me go back to the Seam and we can forget each other. Be my closest friend. Kiss me again._ Contradictory, but so very appealing, and if she opened her mouth, Katniss thought all of them would fly out at once.

"I don't know." Her tongue felt thick, heavy, and the words did not sound like her own voice.

Peeta's eyes searched hers. She wondered if he had seen the thoughts playing out in her mind, hoped he could make more sense of them than she could. He squeezed her hand tight. "If you choose not to marry me, what will you do?"

"Go back to the Seam as soon as possible." That much, at least, she knew.

"Why is it that all the women I love want to run away from me?"

"The Seam isn't nearly as far as Italy."

He snorted. "I wondered if you knew about that."

Her hand withdrew from his. "You weren't going to tell me."

"Eventually, I would have."

Logically, this other woman shouldn't matter. Peeta was not her husband, ideally would never be, and she certainly gave no thought to the mistresses and sweethearts the other men she knew kept hidden away. She ought to let the matter slip away like the non-issue it was, but she could not resist the urge to pry. "Do you write to her?"

"I did for a while. Not anymore."

Something inside her crystallized at those words. "After we, er, well, after this happens, I'm going to live at the Seam." There it was. No taking it back now.

Peeta's brow arched up. "I think you already said that."

She understood now the need for heavenly trumpets and angel song. Some people simply wouldn't recognize a miracle happening in front of their eyes without them. And even if this happened thousands of times a day to people all over the world, it felt momentous to her. Katniss' voice shook over her next words. "And I don't want a child yet."

"You're saying yes." Peeta straightened. "Really? You mean it? No, never mind, I'm not giving you the chance to say no again, I just –"

She cut him off with a kiss. Their teeth clanked together on impact, and she pulled back, sitting up on her knees and holding Peeta's face still between her hands as she went in for a second attempt. He moaned beneath her when their lips met. This was what she remembered from last night. Her hands slid down the sides of his neck to his chest and down towards his stomach, and Katniss marveled at how solid he was, how warm his skin felt through the thin material of his shirt. Peeta pulled her up, practically draping her over him as he leaned against the back of the sofa, hands resting lightly over her bottom.

She wanted to devour him. Katniss moved from his lips to kiss along his cheekbone, back into his hairline, down to his tensed jaw. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, now an incredible shade of deep blue, and she clenched her legs together against the rush of warmth that sent through her.

When she grabbed a fistful of his shirt with some vague notion of pulling it free of his breeches, Peeta moved his hands from her bottom to her shoulders. "Katniss," he whispered. She felt the rise and fall of his chest under her palms. "Katniss, I don't want to stop, but your mother is –"

That sent her reeling back to her senses. Katniss pulled back, putting an almost respectable distance between their bodies and smoothing down her skirts.

Peeta, for his part, just sat there, still leaning against the backrest. She wasn't sure what he could do to make himself presentable. His lips were pink and swollen, and his shirt was rumpled where she had grabbed at it. He watched her with a huge, goofy smile. "That was a yes?"

"With conditions."

"It was a yes." He offered her his hand, and she latched onto it. Katniss bit down on her lower lip as she felt tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. Funny, she never thought she would be the sort to cry at getting engaged.

"I think a quick wedding would be best," Peeta said, "seeing as you can't keep your hands off me."

"I don't remember you arguing with me."

"My dear Mrs. Mellark, would I ever argue with you?"

"We're not married yet, and yes, you would."

"Then in the interest of not arguing, I suppose I have to agree with you." He sat up and smoothed down his shirt, tucking the piece she had pulled back into his breeches. She quickly diverted her gaze when she noticed the tenting around his groin, but curiosity had her looking again a moment later.

"You said yes." He still sounded amazed. Peeta shook his head. "I didn't even have to bribe you into it."

"Now I must know what you were going to bribe me with."

"Oh, you'll like this." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a long, folded piece of paper, which he handed to her. "I found it in a secret compartment in Crane's desk."

She frowned as she studied the front, and her fingers went to a name on the front. "That's him."

"We found our Mr. Coriolanus Snow," Peeta agreed. "That's what made me take it. As it turns out, he's an inventor. He has done quite a bit of work for the military, and I think we just found the plans for his latest project."

Katniss pulled back a corner and saw the mast of a boat. "You looked at it?"

He nodded. "It's a warship of some sort. I don't know if it's one we have or a design for someone else."

She exhaled. "We need to get this to the War Office as soon as possible. They need to know what Crane has been doing."

"I'll take it as soon as I leave here."

"You mean as soon as Mother and Prim let you leave. It's not going to be easy to escape them, you know."

"A small obstacle to overcome for king and country." He smiled as he stood, helping her up as well. Peeta kissed her temple. "Ready?"

"No, but I'll try."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for violence and blood in this chapter.

_Dearest Diary,_

_Yesterday, I believed that my life had reached its lowest point, but now, I yearn to return to it. These last few hours have shown me a greater depravity of the human spirit than I have ever witnessed, and at the risk of sounding melodramatic, yesterday now seems a warm, pleasant dream that I long to crawl back into._

_Reading those last lines back again, I can too easily picture myself recording much the same sentiment tomorrow. Please God, Fate, or any other great ruling power of the universe, do not consider these words a challenge._

* * *

As predicted, it took ages for Peeta to reach the front door. Once he reached it, they faced another round of misty-eyed congratulations before Peeta was allowed to leave.

The onslaught started the instant the door shut behind him. "Katniss, couldn't you be a bit more excited? You're getting  _married_."

"Thought it'd take him more than twenty minutes to convince you." Mother's voice held a conspiratorial note, and Katniss wondered just how much she had heard.

"He can be very, er, convincing," Katniss stammered. She pushed a rogue piece of hair behind her ear, hoping it would cover at least some of her blush. Judging by the way Mother's lips quirked up at the edges, the gesture was less than successful.

The entire exchange flew over Prim's head. "Isn't it funny, thinking about how you insisted for years that we were only going to come to London so I could have a season, and you would be more chaperone than debutante, and it's you who's getting married first? Not that I thought you couldn't find someone, of course. Anyone would be lucky to have you. But as much as you may try to deny it, the minute you met Mr. Mellark, I knew –"

Katniss faked a yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's been a busy morning." Another yawn came out, this time unbidden. Goodness, it really had been a long day, and it hadn't reached noon yet. "I think I'm going to rest a bit. Lots to do these next few days, you know."

Prim looked miffed, but Mother murmured her agreement, and seconds later, Katniss was trudging upstairs. She could have sworn there were fewer stairs to the staircase this morning. When she finally reached the top, she wanted nothing more than to collapse face first into her mattress. Well, almost nothing, for she found herself walking over to the small window in the room she and Prim shared to see if she could catch a glimpse of Peeta as he walked away.

It took her a few seconds to pick him out, as the entire way Peeta held himself had changed. He walked with his shoulders squared, gaze straight ahead, and long, purposeful strides. Any half-wit could see he was a man with a mission. Strong, yes - she remembered the ease with which he had lifted her off of Daring's back – and his coat accentuated his broad shoulders, but even the strongest man was vulnerable when caught unaware. And as she hadn't seen him look over his shoulder once in the time she'd been watching him, Kantiss honestly couldn't fathom how Peeta could be aware of any threats around him. If she were a hired thug, she would jump him. In every sense of the word, the seditious little voice that inhabited the back corners of her mind whispered. Following her usual strategy with that voice, she dismissed the thought before she had to consider it any further.

In an instant, her mind was made up. Katniss rushed down the stairs two steps at a time. "I'm going for a walk!"

"That was a quick change of heart. If you'll wait just a moment, we'll come with you," Mother said.

"A solitary walk. I need some time to think." Katniss grinned over her shoulder as she put her hat on. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll be married before anyone has the chance to say anything."

"You won't be gone more than an hour." Judging by her tone of voice, Mother would be out combing the streets for her at sixty-one minutes.

"Goodbye!" She pulled the door shut behind her with more force than intended.

The hat she had grabbed did nothing to shield her from the bright late-morning sun. Katniss pulled the brim as far as she could over her eyes and hurried after Peeta. He had a head start on her, but after just a couple minutes, she was within a hundred yards of him, which she judged close enough to watch his back without making it too obvious she was trailing him. Not that Peeta would notice anyway, as the man still hadn't done so much as glance behind the entire time she'd been following him. It was a good thing he'd have her to watch his back from now on.

She scanned the houses and side streets for any hint of a threat. Even in this part of London, there were always a few questionable sorts about, but none seemed to take any particular interest in Peeta or herself. One would have to be fairly bold to try anything at this time of day, when anyone who happened to pass by the window could see them. Out of curiosity, she checked the windows. Katniss thought she saw shadows lurking in a few of them, but she couldn't be sure if the forms were people or furniture.

When her attention returned to the street, she didn't see Peeta. Her heart pounded as she raced forward. Where was he? He couldn't have gone far in the thirty seconds or so since she'd last seen him. Had he finally realized he'd been followed the whole time and slipped away? No, that didn't sound like Peeta.

Katniss whirled around. No one behind her. Her eyes flicked over the area. Nothing seemed out of place.

"Peeta?" she shouted.

"Kat – oof." Peeta's answer was cut off by a grunt.

Katniss dashed towards the source of the noise, a narrow alley so tightly nestled between the surrounding buildings that she had never before noticed it. She dug into her pocket for the knife as she ran.

When she saw the enormous man standing over Peeta, instinct took over. She screamed like a banshee as she sprinted towards him. Her knife was nowhere to be found, but that did not stop Katniss from launching herself at Peeta's assailant.

A seven-stone woman hardly seemed a threat to a giant; however, a seven-stone woman traveling as quickly as her legs and adrenaline could carry her was a projectile. She screamed again, and pain shot through her body as she collided with the man, who staggered back. Katniss hooked an arm around his neck to hold herself up and kicked with both legs. The man was pulling on her arm, trying to rip her away from him. She clawed at his face, and he screamed as her fingernail dug into something soft.

Katniss didn't realize she'd been dislodged until she hit the ground. Searing pain blazed in her elbow and tailbone. Dazed, she looked up at the sky and was almost surprised to realize that it was the same bright, clear day it had been a few moments prior.

Something hit her thigh, and unsure if it was Peeta or his attacker, she kicked blindly in that direction. A shadow fell over her, and she rolled away, struggling to climb back to her feet.

"Get the knife!" Peeta shouted.

What knife? She didn't see a knife.

"Katniss, get the knife!" Peeta strained against the other man, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Someone's blood stained his shirt.

Finally, she spotted the weapon, a long, nasty hooked blade, and scrambled for it.

The knife was heavy in her hand as she rushed back towards Peeta and the giant. Upper chest, right side, she thought. You have one chance at this.

She screamed as she struck, and even before the blade made contact, Katniss knew her aim had been wide. The knife met minimal resistance as it sliced through the flesh of the man's shoulder.

Still, it was enough to throw the man off balance. His knees gave out beneath him, and he and Peeta fell to the ground. A stomach-churning crack echoed in the alleyway as his skull hit the cobblestones.

Suddenly, the world was quiet again. Katniss' hands wouldn't stop shaking. She had to use her left hand to unwrap her fingers from the knife's handle. It clattered as it fell to the ground.

"Is he…?" She couldn't bear to finish the sentence.

"I'm not sure." Peeta kneeled next to the fallen man and hesitantly reached towards his face. He held his fingers over the man's mouth for several seconds. "He's not breathing."

Her stomach flipped, and Katniss' vision went black around the edges. She'd killed a man. In that moment, it didn't matter that he had been the aggressor, or that it could just as easily have been Peeta lying there, dead in an alleyway. Her breath came in gasps, and the buildings crowded in on her. She stepped backwards, but somehow the body was closer now, filling up her entire field of vision.

"Are you hurt?" With a gentle hand on her cheek, Peeta guided her eyes away from the corpse and toward his own face. Blood ran down from his nose and over the front of his shirt. "Katniss, are you all right?"

"You're hurt." A gash ran under his right eye. To her untrained eye, it did not seem deep. She was more worried about his nose. "We need to get you to my mother."

"But are you hurt?" he repeated. His steady blue eyes were filled with concern.

She offered a weak smile. "Asks the man whose face whose face has been sliced open."

"I know I'm still standing."

Katniss raised an eyebrow and glanced down at her own entirely-functioning legs, waiting for him to notice his mistake.

It took a moment. "Point taken."

"Come on." She took his hand in hers. "Mother hasn't had anyone to stitch up in ages. She won't even complain if you get blood on the carpet."

"Then she's a better person than I." Peeta's voice was strong, but she could sense a shakiness beneath.

Katniss wrapped his arm around her shoulders, allowing her to support some of his weight. "I don't believe there was any confusion on that point." The joke fell flat, even to her own ears, but right now, with the body of the man she and Peeta had killed only feet behind them, she needed to pretend everything was all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long hiatus. I like writing (well, most of the time) and am glad to be getting back to it. Thanks to everyone who reminded me to update – it was lovely to know that people were thinking about this story.


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